


The Vacation

by satismagic



Series: Sex Must Be Mixed [2]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Bisexuality, Coming Out, Falling In Love, Haiku, Hiking, Hobbit hole, M/M, New Zealand, Pie, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Shower Sex, Sleepy Sex, Smoking, Tomato Soup, Vacation, Wordplay, blood orange martini, chandeliers, notebooks, pluvial porn, porn avec plot, psycho-fluff, quotes, sexual identity issues, the taste of spunk, top!Zach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1289587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satismagic/pseuds/satismagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not going to spend my first vacation in months in a Hobbit hole with you,” Zach said. “How do you even come up with shit like that? Who even rents out Hobbit holes? The only one I can imagine doing that is Gandalf. And last I checked he was still waiting for Godot with Captain Picard.”</p><p>(Pinto in New Zealand, if not in Middle-earth. The sequel of “The Notebook”. With pie and pluvial porn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Party (With Marshmallows)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [museaway (museattack)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=museaway+%28museattack%29).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> • This story is a (woefully late) birthday gift for Museaway. (Happy birthday, Muse! All the best wishes: health, happiness, and many gorgeous moments – and of course, may the Muses always be with you!)  
> • I am indebted to my alpha-readers and beta-readers, A. and Aranel Took. They make this world a better place and this story a much better read. All remaining mistakes are mine.  
> • This story is the sequel of “The Notebook”. Some details of “The Vacation” will make more sense if you have read that story, too.  
> • Last but not least, disclaimer: John Lennon said “Reality leaves a lot to the imagination.” And that’s what this story is – nothing but imagination and fantasy.

## An Unexpected Party (With Marshmallows)

Zach rounded on him. “No. Absolutely not.”

Chris blinked innocently.

“No!”

Chris leaned back on the couch, and his face slowly spread into a grin. He folded his hands on his lap.

“I’m not going to spend my first vacation in months in a _Hobbit hole_ with you,” Zach said. “How do you even come up with shit like that? Who even rents out Hobbit holes? The only one I can imagine doing that is Gandalf. And last I checked _he_ was still waiting for Godot with Captain Picard.”

Chris kept grinning, and that was beginning to worry Zach. He was too confident. Almost cocky. Zach narrowed his eyes and studied Chris’s expression. Chris’s eyes, at first sparkling with mischief, darkened at his scrutiny. That soft shift from cerulean to sapphire had an instant effect on Zach. Thankfully, his heart was not so clichéd as to actually _skip_ a beat. Instead, a breathless syncopation took him by surprise. A back beat that skipped straight to his groin.

“How did you even end up here?” Zach asked, backtracking to the very beginning of the conversation.

“On a plane,” Chris replied irritably, his smile fading. “You know those clever machines up in the sky that transport people from A to B?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Zach snapped. Someone had to think straight in this situation, and obviously it wasn’t going to be Chris. Zach hadn’t expected to see Chris again so soon after whatever they had shared during those two days and three nights just over a week ago. He certainly hadn’t been prepared to find Chris of all people waiting for him on his damn doorstep tonight, playing paparazzi bait when he should be safely on his way to New Zealand to film “Z for Zachariah”.

“Yeah, I do.” Chris lowered his head in defeat. “But I think we’re good. I _um,_ I guess I kind of lucked out. And I swear, I really had no idea, okay? I didn’t know she’s in New York right now, never mind staying at the same stupid hotel.”

“Who? What? Which hotel?”

“ _Iris._ I dumped a bag at my usual place to keep up appearances before I came here. And that’s where I ran into her. Apparently she’s here for some cool rich dude she met at the Ryan premiere in London of all things. And well, it’s not public knowledge yet that this thing with Iris was kind of casual. And over, since London. Anyway, some paps saw us and took pictures. They got their pound of flesh and let us go. So we shared a cab. She went to see that guy and I came here.” Chris looked at Zach, his gaze pleading. “And I think she’s decent enough not to blab. So we ... we should be good.”

 _Good._ Zach had no idea what they were, but “good” was not the word that came to mind.

Yes, sure, they had agreed it was not just sex. That was a given, really, after seven years of friendship. And it certainly couldn’t be called casual, considering the minor complication of Chris not even _in_ the fucking closet as far as anyone knew. In consequence smart, sane, or safe were not the adjectives that came to Zach’s mind when he tried to describe the situation. On the other hand, this was hardly the first time he’d pushed the boundaries in his personal relationships (or allowed his limits to fall by the wayside). And no matter what the exact definition of their relationship might be, it was a friendship. Possibly the best he’d ever had in his life. It would be all right. Or at least that’s what Zach had told himself.

But then Chris had gone and done exactly what he’d said during that one dumb interview when he’d been asked what he’d do if he were to take Zach out on a _date_.

He’d written a poem. A short one, just as advertised, but still. An honest to goodness and damn lewd haiku, five-seven-five English equivalents of _on_ and everything. To make matters worse, Chris – whose everyday writing could be a nightmare – had used an artist’s quill and sepia ink to draw the haiku in fucking _calligraphy_ on handmade bamboo paper. The saving grace was a negligible ink splotch in the upper right-hand corner of the page. Thanks to that letter Zach’s inner balance was even more off-kilter than it already had been after Chris’s visit.

And now this. Probably the new and improved version of the “walk” Chris had included in his hypothetical plans for taking Zach out on a date. Zach glared at the shiny brochure featuring the Banks Peninsula on his coffee table. A trip to New Zealand when Zach could get some time off from filming “Agent 47”. Because in March the weather was much nicer in New Zealand than in Berlin and because Chris knew for some reason that Zach had talked about an island vacation. (If Zach didn’t know better, he’d think their publicists’ interns were trying to set them up.)

Therefore, “good” was not the word Zach would have used right now, if Chris had given him half a chance. Crazy, maybe.

“... technically, New Zealand is an island, right? Several even,” Chris went on helpfully. “Two big ones and tons of small ones.”

Zach was in no position to deny that. And he would happily confirm that Chris Pine constituted a damn disturbance of Zach’s Zen.

“A Hobbit hole,” Zach repeated weakly. “Why the hell do you think I’d want to live in a hole in the ground for two weeks?”

“It has,” Chris said and blushed delicately, in a soft flush that rose from his body and crept up his neck until it suffused his face. “A Jacuzzi. And.” He licked his lips. “A sauna.”

Zach was ready to roll his eyes and let loose a mocking remark regarding the difference between movies and real life when he noticed the tension around Chris’s eyes. Suddenly, a strange tenderness welled up within him and silenced the sarcastic retort. He recalled Chris’s frantic passion after the play. Words like “raw” and “vulnerable” crossed Zach’s mind before he involuntarily focused on the tip of Chris’s tongue again. Because no matter if that was a nervous tic or flirtation, Zach was helpless against the sex appeal of the gesture. So instead of taking refuge in flippancy, Zach reached out and trailed his left index finger over Chris’s lips. Fascinated, he discovered that this light caress sufficed to plunge the color of Chris’s eyes over the edge of Bombay Sapphire right into the abyss. _Not a pool at all_ , he thought, _but the deep sea with all its mysteries._

“Okay,” Zach said. “We ... we can do that. New Zealand.”

He didn’t expect Chris to melt against him at this less than enthusiastic agreement, curling up around him like Harold. And he did not like how the tightness around Chris’s eyes persisted. A curious sensation unfurled inside him at seeing Chris like that, so cautious in his arms. He brushed his fingertips upwards. Gently, Zach stroked Chris’s temple with his thumb. “You’re stretched too thin, Chris.”

Chris huffed but did not turn away from the caress. “Like butter scraped over too much bread?”

“Hmm.” Zach traced Chris’s hairline. He had to resist the temptation of burying his fingers in Chris’s hair, still too long from filming “Horrible Bosses 2”. “You do like those books.”

“And the movies, too,” Chris agreed. “Also, Mr. Hitman, you’re the right one to get on my case about overdoing it. With just enough time between ‘Menagerie’ and ‘Agent 47’ to actually _get_ to Berlin. If your flight isn’t delayed. Out of the frying pan into the fire, that’s what it is.”

“Apples and oranges, Chris.” Zach continued his leisurely exploration of Chris’s face. Touching helped, he discovered. The distance of the past days dissolved into warm desire. “Theater is all about structure and steady work. It’s an actor’s take on nine to five. So while I could have done with time off after the run, I’m not stumbling in front of the camera coming down from the adrenaline high of an A-list junket. Furthermore, I’m not the Jack Ryan of ‘Agent 47’.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Chris murmured, more drowsy than aroused, unintentionally corroborating Zach’s interpretation of his state of mind and body. “Why. It doesn’t seem like your kind of thing. Not with what you’ve been doing here, not with what I’ve heard about your other projects.”

“Mostly the money,” Zach replied promptly. “It’s a smart business decision.” He shrugged. “I don’t quite make the big bucks you get. And no, we’re not going to talk about that right now. But the thing is, I’d be stupid to say no to good money that I can save up to throw at Before The Door if needs be. Also, filming in Berlin. You know how much I like the city. It only makes sense.” He cuddled Chris closer. That was nice. Real _nice_ even. Miles had always been so stand-offish about snuggling. Uncomfortable about appearing too soft – too girly – in any way. To need Zach too much.

“However, when I signed on for that particular project, there were two other things I thought of,” Zach went on. “First of all, fun and diversity. Making a movie like that is a lot of fun, and I wanted a change of pace after ‘Menagerie’. And then ... there’s this friend of mine.” He smiled. “We’re a bit competitive. And I hope my friend won’t take this the wrong way – but he’s doing some mainstream stuff right now because he’s at just the right stage of his career for it. But now and again, like, I think he does it because he feels he’d be stupid to say no. And I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not really comfortable with what he’s doing. So yeah. Not my first or my second thought, Chris, but ...” Zach couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head and kissed Chris. His friend. Now his lover. A pretty chaste kiss, just a gentle slide of lips and a tickling of tongue along the delicious lines of Chris’s mouth. “It’s okay to mix and match. _You’re_ okay.”

Then Zach had about enough of that heavy-lidded gaze, limpid blue and foggy with fatigue. He shoved at Chris. “Bedroom. Now.”

Chris stumbled when he managed to get up. He must be even more exhausted than Zach had realized. “Also, you really need to brush up on your geography. Coming to New York en route to New Zealand?” He slung his arm around Chris. To steady him, or to pull him closer, Zach couldn’t say. “Chris, you’re crazy,” he murmured. “Because it’s not. En route. It’s nowhere near en route. It’s exactly the opposite direction.”

Chris twisted around to claim a messy kiss that made them both lurch against the wall. “I guess I am. I don’t care. Do you mind?”

Zach knew when to stop with the smartassery. Crazy or not, he did not mind at all. Not when he could have Chris in his arms like this, when he could kiss Chris like this, when he could be kissed in return. Because yeah, those lips and that tongue ... Chris was everything Zach had imagined, only more so.

Because he _had_ imagined kissing Chris. More than was healthy. Just to see Chris kissing on screen had fuelled his imagination. In spite of how personal experience with kissing for the camera inevitably rendered on-screen osculation less than inspiring, thanks to inescapable associations with too many breath mints, or worse _no_ breath mints at all. But the thing was, he’d also seen Chris kissing for real a few times over the years. And he’d never witnessed Chris letting himself fall into a kiss like this, ever. And that was _Chris._ Who had no concept of personal space whatsoever with people he loved. Who couldn’t keep his hands to himself in TV interviews. (And if he managed not to touch anyone else during all of those five or ten minutes, that was only because he was rubbing his own damn tummy or massaging his shoulder under his shirt in entirely inappropriate ways.) _Chris._ Who was genuinely _baffled_ if people displayed any reluctance about PDA if there were no paparazzi present. Who would turn into an overly affectionate octopus at a moment’s notice if you only let him.

 _“Chris ...”_ Zach sighed, and then he couldn’t talk or think anymore because here was Chris, Chris in his arms, and oh, those lips again and that tongue ...

Despite that interlude in the hallway, they made it to the bedroom fully dressed this time. Zach was almost tempted to try and undress Chris and summarily put him to bed – to sleep, not to have sex, because he looked so damn tired, his eyes bruised with weariness. But it was clear that Chris would have none of that, the way he groped for Zach’s ass and pushed himself against Zach’s body.

Zach drew Chris close and toward his nightstand, though, where Chris’s haiku was propped up against the wall. If he was not completely mistaken, certain negotiations were in order. In his experience, harmonious carnal relations were better served with a general agreement on specific logistics beforehand.

 _“Autumn's embers' glow,”_ Zach declaimed and brushed his lips from Chris’s mouth to that sexy spot at the center of his collarbones. _“Touch me, fuck me, hot and slow, I come home **in** you ...”_ He pressed another kiss into that delicious hollow, careful not to suck too hard on the delicate skin. He knew better than to mark Chris before he had to show up for filming. “Am I completely off the mark if I assume you wanted to tell me something with that?”

Zach didn’t mind; he was more versatile than most people gave him credit for, even if he preferred to top. And Chris – last week they had crossed a point of no return, certainly; but getting back on top so to speak, Chris might need—

Chris pressed his erection against Zach, and whatever Chris had wanted to say turned into a breathy _“Ffff... argh”_ instead of an intelligible reply. The way he rocked against Zach was entirely expected. The way he laid his head on Zach’s shoulder and leaned meekly into his embrace not so much.

“Nah,” Chris murmured. “That line, it just sounded better this way. Focus on the middle part. I really want you. To fuck me. Though I might pass out at some point.”

Now, that was unexpected. That Chris admitted just how tired he was even more so. And _that_ did make Zach hesitate. When the timing was seriously off, it was better to wait. At thirty-six, Zach would rather have no sex than bad sex (been there, done that; and he preferred not to mention the t-shirt). Plus, Chris had been rather sore last time and somewhat overwhelmed, too, with the practicalities of it all. And the way it had happened, in two short days of intense sex and too much emotion with no routine to get back to ... Zach had worried about Chris. His feelings. But now Chris seemed so certain about what he needed. And if you wanted to listen, a body would tell the truth when language and even looks might lie. Chris was _clinging_ to him. His cock throbbed against Zach’s stomach. How in heaven or hell could Zach say no to that?

“I think I can live with that,” Zach said. He reached for Chris’s collar and began to unbutton his shirt. To his surprise Chris let him, just standing there, waiting, almost submissive, his gaze focused on Zach with ocean-deep longing. “Chris ...” Zach kissed and licked his way down to Chris’s stomach, to that ridiculously enticing belly button. “They make you lose weight for Zachariah?”

Chris inhaled, a gasp, a sigh, a sound of helpless pleasure. “Yeah, some ... But mostly it’s just the junket, I think. I haven’t been eating right. Not even junket junk food.”

“Hmm.” Zach traced a fingertip over the curve of his ribs, the faint outline of bone under hard muscles and soft skin. “I thought some of your suits were not quite as indecently snug as you like them recently. With the exception of that tweed marvel in London, of course.” He pressed another kiss to tender, almost pale skin. “But you’re reaching a certain limit here, Chris. You need to eat more. Healthy stuff,” he elaborated, “and I’m not talking about vegan cupcakes. Maybe figure out a new workout routine beyond sculpting those perfect action hero muscles, too. And no,” he silenced the predictable protest with one more kiss, “I’m not going to start preaching the yoga again. Though it would be good for you. What I mean is something, anything, _whatever_ makes you feel good about yourself. Within yourself.”

Chris smiled against his lips. “I have an idea about that ...” He reached for Zach’s hoodie and tugged. “Off,” he demanded and added, with a wicked grin, “Race you?”

“Why the hell did I let you get a head start?” Zach grumbled, his voice muffled within the confines of his top. He hadn’t even thought of the pun, but he could hear Chris crack up. When he’d wrestled out of hoodie and top, Chris was still red-faced and laughing, and not as far ahead in the game as he would have been without his one-track mind.

A minute or two later, they tumbled into bed. If Zach was inordinately fascinated with Chris’s belly button, that was nothing compared to Chris’s obsession with Zach’s body hair. He couldn’t seem to stop touching Zach, and damn, that _tickled_. Then Zach had Chris on his back, laid out in front of him. Pondering the possibilities, he wondered if he could make Chris’s weariness work in his favor. Even if they were going to Middle-earth together in March, he wouldn’t see Chris for a few weeks. If all he got until then was Chris’s crazy stopover on his way to New Zealand, Zach wanted to put that short time with him to the best possible use. And that definitely included a leisurely blowjob.

“Hey, man,” Chris complained. “You’re looking at me like I’m your dinner and you don’t know where to start.”

Zach sucked his lips into his mouth. “Surprisingly astute observation, Pine. But I think I know exactly how to begin.”

He bent to the task, taking his sweet, sweet time. First he measured Chris’s width and length with open-mouthed kisses, an exercise that sparked a searing flare of heat in his stomach. Then he twisted his tongue around Chris’s erection and luxuriated in the sensations. To feel the silky skin stretched so smooth and tight. So fucking _hot_. He trailed is tongue along every slightly prominent vein, teased the flare of the head, nipped ever so gently at the base. Each caress presented him with a new, delicious discovery, and the gift of a gasp or a groan. Finally, he stifled a moan of his own by sucking Chris’s dick into his mouth. Not deep, not yet, just enough to feel him full and heavy on his tongue. So _good._ And to know that this was real and not another guilt-drenched fantasy ... He held Chris at the base, for guidance, and so he’d know when to stop. He pulled back and twirled his tongue, toying at the slit. _Too_ good.

“Jesus Christ!” Chris panted. “Stop with this yogi-sufi tongue twirling shit. I’m this close to rapture, I swear to god, Zach—”

Zach stopped. But only because this wasn’t how he wanted the evening to end. He crawled back upwards and kissed Chris. Again, he could barely bring himself to let go of Chris even for the few seconds it took to grab a condom and the bottle of lube. He could still taste Chris in his mouth; he knew this was not a dream. And yet ... He’d dreamed of Chris just like this. Waking with Chris’s name on his lips while in bed with another man – who happened to be his boyfriend – was not cool. Waking because he’d had a nightmare of doing that was not much better. Both had happened to Zach.

When he had everything he needed, he stroked down Chris’s arm. “Turn over. Not gonna try to make you exercise tonight.”

Chris obeyed. Zach pushed himself up and moved to lean over him, stroking and kissing his way down Chris’s spine until he was sucking at his tailbone. About the one place he dared to leave a mark right now, not knowing the particulars of the makeup requirements for the Zachariah movie. Then he slicked up his fingers and spread Chris’s cheeks, and ...

 _“Fuck.”_ There were moments when no other word was appropriate. Weakly, he added, “So hot.”

And tight, never mind their efforts the other week. When Chris was ready, Zach pushed in with care. His hands on Chris’s shoulders, his mouth pressed against his back, his lover’s name turned into a moan: _“Chris.”_

Zach knew he was being a bastard, but he didn’t touch Chris, and he used his full weight to keep Chris from finding relief in his own hands, disregarding his muffled protestations. He was already so close; to keep Chris from climax now was not _that_ cruel. He thrust deep and slow, trying to wait, to enjoy, to fucking _revel_ in the moment. But then Chris couldn’t help clenching and—

Zach didn’t precisely black out. But he failed at his well-intentioned efforts not to mark Chris.

“Sorry,” he murmured, too blissed out to summon an adequately contrite apology. “So sorry.”

As gently as he could, he kissed the angry red imprint of his teeth in Chris’s shoulder even as he pushed himself up and pulled out of his lover’s body. But Chris just moaned, whining at the separation. Zach quickly shed the condom, wrapping it in a tissue and dropping it summarily on the floor for later disposal. Then he turned Chris around. As Zach had hoped, Chris was still hard, close, but not too close.

This time, he took Chris as deep as he could, sucking hard, softening the edge of his teeth with his lips but biting down just so, while he cupped Chris’s balls with his right hand and curled the fingers of his left hand around the base of his cock at the same time. In spite of his post-orgasmic dizziness he could have continued like this forever. (Or at least another sixty seconds.) But it wasn’t meant to be. With a cry, Chris convulsed and came in hot, sweet spurts.

 _Yes,_ Zach thought as he sucked and swallowed. _Sweet. Really sweet._

A few minutes later, he pulled the duvet over them and wrapped Chris into a tight embrace. Again, he couldn’t even bear to spoon, never mind that Chris was already drifting off, barely able to blink open his eyes to kiss Zach goodnight.

Zach didn’t mind. Even though that normally happened to him only when he bottomed, tonight he felt exhilarated rather than drowsy from his orgasm. He smiled a kiss against Chris’s lips, before he murmured, “And just so you know, marshmallows are neither food _nor_ a solution.”

That was apparently one of the few things that could still rouse Chris sufficiently to open his eyes in dazed astonishment. “How the fuck can you tell that I’ve been eating marshmallows?”

“Years of dedicated applied research in the field.” Zach licked his lips.

Chris burrowed his face against Zach’s shoulder and groaned. His breathing deepened, and Zach thought he was dozing off just like that. But then Chris muttered, a soft vibration against his shoulder, “About that. You could call my mom, and she'd be able to explain my symptoms to you. Just promise not to ask my sister about it.”

“What?!” Zach didn’t need Chris’s mother or his sister to explain how the sugar of marshmallows translated into the taste of semen.

 _“Uh huh,”_ Chris mumbled. “It happened to me before. This one time. Not just _falling_ in love. Not just _being_ in love. But _love_ , like the real thing.”

And with that confession, Chris did fall asleep, between one breath and the next, leaving Zach wide awake and out of sorts and unable to move because Chris was clinging to him like a damn limpet. Zach had no idea how he felt, how he was supposed to feel. Jealous, because Chris had loved before? Or scared? _Chris_ was scared, Zach realized. That was what it was all about. The not eating and not sleeping and the marshmallow binge that made Chris’s spunk taste like liquid cotton candy. Not symptoms of a bad crush or a gay freak out. Chris was terrified because he had loved before. This one time. And gotten his heart broken, obviously.

Zach lay there and listened to Chris breathing and yeah, now _he_ was scared, too. He’d known from the start that he was not some kind of experiment or random shenanigans for Chris. Chris simply didn't work that way, never mind his dating habits. Even without Chris’s orgasm-induced confession about his marshmallow orgy, Zach had already known that there was more to this, to whatever it was ... More than their agreement that it wasn’t just sex implied. And as much as that thrilled him, it also worried him.

Not just because of the strange dynamics between them. Because things _were_ strange: To share a friendship that was more intimate than many of their actual relationships for years before their first kiss. To have the nature of their connection change so abruptly and so profoundly. That did not match any of their previous dating habits. But most of all, _Chris_. Zach had become aware of his sexual preferences at a very young age. And although it had taken him until he was twenty-four to come out to all of his family and friends, and longer still to go public about it, he figured that was still pretty much “normal” in terms of personal development. Chris, however, was _thirty-three_ now. _His_ homosexual experiences so far could safely be classified as fooling around – as experiments of an adventurous young man who wasn't a perfect zero on the Kinsey scale. A serious relationship with another man ... That was different matter entirely.

Zach closed his eyes. That didn’t help. He could still feel Chris in his arms. Could still see Chris in his mind. He tried to imagine what Chris was going through and failed. And that was just wondering about the personal, private, intimate side of it all, about what Chris was feeling, what Chris was thinking, how Chris was experiencing and processing all of this. Zach wasn’t even trying to take into account any further repercussions yet. At least he wasn't too worried about friends and family. He knew Chris’s family. They were good people. And he knew many of Chris’s friends. They might be taken aback; they would be worried. But they were unlikely to give Chris much grief. Or at least Zach hoped so. Former girlfriends might show less understanding. And the media ... Zach didn't want to expect the worst, but he knew damn well that the media _would_ get hold of their story, probably sooner rather than later. And yeah, that fallout would be epic.

Zach pulled Chris closer and inhaled his scent – or rather _their_ scents, a unique combination of sex and skin and Cool Water mixed with sweat and Molecule 01. He listened to Chris’s breathing, a soft snuffling sound, not even proper snoring, and way too cute for a grown man. All of a sudden, Zach wantedto keep this, whatever it was. Wanted to keep it all: cataclysmic cupcakes, lewd haiku, stolen notebooks, surprise sex, sleepy sex, even worrying about Chris (his diet and his state of mind), and weird vacations; all those things. He thought of what it would mean to keep it. Of what it would mean to lose it. To lose _Chris._ A year ago, ending things with Jon hadn’t particularly bothered Zach. The long distance thing simply wasn’t going to work; a clean break was better for everyone. That Miles had broken off with him the way he had, okay, that had hurt. Zach had figured they were doing fine, damn it. But if he was perfectly honest with himself he was more pissed off and nursing wounded pride than in any serious emotional distress over that. But to lose _Chris_ ...

Minutes passed in the darkness. Zach composed a list of symptoms in his mind. (His symptoms, this time.) Can’t sleep. Check. Can’t breathe. Check. Heart rate and blood pressure elevated? You better believe it. And his stomach had twisted into a mess of nerves and desire. Zach focused on yoga breathing exercises. Eventually, he managed to breathe deeply again. He didn’t regain any semblance of balance, but his agitation faded in favor of the strangest, softest feeling. Zach thought of their first night together. Of the stolen notebook, of tinhats, cupcakes, and odd quotes. Of Tennyson redux. He exhaled in a shuddering breath.

“I yield,” Zach whispered with much more conviction than ten days ago. But Chris just snorted in his sleep and snuggled closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **♥ Comments are love! ♥**  
>  What made you smile? What made you frown? What's the most memorable line? Let me know! And if you don't know what to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another author elsewhere? Comments are the best thank-you fanfic writers can receive, and all of us cherish them. Thank you for reading, and I hope you like my story.
> 
> Visit me online: at [my blog on Fancrone Net](http://juno-magic.fancrone.net/blog/) or over [on Tumblr](http://juno-magic.tumblr.com/).


	2. Queer Lodgings (And Gay Pajamas)

## Queer Lodgings (And Gay Pajamas)

At the post-run party of “The Glass Menagerie”, Zach told the reporters heckling him that after a few weeks in Berlin, he’d be going to New Zealand for a short vacation – hiking and hanging out with Karl. And yeah, at some point he might meet up with Chris. But of course Chris was there for work, not for fun, so ... _You know how that goes._ He’d already mentioned his plans in interviews before. Suddenly refusing to talk about that topic would only draw attention to it. And that was the last thing Zach wanted. Thankfully, most of the journalists were much more interested in interrogating him about “Agent 47” than about his personal affairs.

Zach didn’t bother to let Karl know about the lies he’d told the media. He _did_ tell Chris, who pretended that he was fine with whatever Zach wanted. That was probably a lie, but Zach wasn’t about to argue. They weren’t ready for any kind of big reveal – if only because he still had no fucking clue what exactly there would be to reveal in the end. But he wasn’t so naïve as to believe he could get away with Chris Pine as his “rumored boyfriend” for months. So, yeah, he wasn’t above some strategic scheming to protect their privacy for a while longer. Anyway, Zach doubted that Karl would be hounded over an off-hand remark like that. He also didn’t think that Karl or his publicist were keeping tabs on Zach’s interviews the way Chris was, the sneaky little stalker. If things did get back to Karl somehow, Zach was pretty sure that he wouldn’t mind. Zach’s comment had been innocuous enough, after all. Besides, if he and Chris decided to come clean about this thing between them to friends and family, Karl just might end up one of their first friends to be told.

If they got that chance; if they managed to keep their affair private for a few more weeks at least; if their luck held. Just a little bit longer. Like, around one hour and twenty minutes on the plane from Auckland to Christchurch and a cab ride to Chris’s Hobbit hole near Port Levy on the Banks Peninsula longer ...

Zach stared out of the window of the plane. Blue surrounded him, no clouds in sight. Not cerulean, though. Ultramarine? He felt surreal. Supernal. Singularly strange. Eerie, kooky, odd. _Weird._ Peculiar, perplexed, puzzled. In his mind, he worked through lists of synonyms and eventually ended up with – _queer._

_Even more so than usual_ , he thought wryly.

Because the last few weeks had been ... absurd and bizarre and curious ... all of that and more. First the end-of-run euphoria of the final days of “The Glass Menagerie”. Then the adrenaline rush of Berlin, of learning his way around the city and the set. Soaking in the sights, immersing himself in the sounds of a foreign language, meeting new people, playing tourist whenever he had the chance.

And _Chris._ To think of Chris (to want Chris, to dream of Chris) was not exactly new. In the course of seven years Zach had gotten used to that affliction. The expected side-effects if you shared amazing chemistry with an attractive co-star. The unfortunate fallout if you suffered from an insane attraction to a good friend. Chris simply was on Zach’s mind. Never mind that he was strictly off-limits for oh so many reasons. (Like the promise Zach had given himself never to revert to his old self-destructive pattern of falling for obviously unavailable men ever again.) Now, after five nights and three days together, all bets were off and all limits broken. But five nights and three days together were not enough to create something new out of everything they had shared so far. Thus they had remained in limbo for weeks. Suspended between friendship and relationship.

A frustrating and infuriating experience, to be sure, but also a time rife with dreams and desires. They could fly right to the moon. Everything was possible. Nothing out of reach. But now Zach had to return to Earth. Entering orbit, he couldn’t help wondering how the next three weeks would play out. If this thing they shared would turn into an adventurous affair, a best/worst mistake ever kind of thing, a friendship with benefits, or into something more.

Into something _real_.

♦

Their luck held. Zach’s taxi driver was sufficiently rotund and cheerful to serve as an understudy for the proprietor of the Prancing Pony, Barley Butterbean or whatever the character’s name had been. Better yet, Barley either didn’t recognize Zach or didn’t give a damn.

The downside was that just like Tolkien’s innkeeper, the man turned out to be rather garrulous. First the driver had to ascertain that Zach did indeed come from New York: “I knew it. Your accent is a dead giveaway.” (Zach rather doubted that, but he didn’t bother with questioning Barley’s linguistic insights.) Then the man wanted to know if he was in New Zealand for a vacation like a sensible person or if he was here for business in the film industry: “I have to ask; they just did a movie here again, and my wife goes gaga over those actor types.”

Once the driver’s curiosity was satisfied, Zach could lean back and watch fluffy sheep float by on emerald meadows while Barley rambled on: Christchurch and the Banks Peninsula weren’t even Middle-earth country, so he didn’t quite see the point in having Hobbit houses here. But if the tourists liked it, far be it from him to judge them for it. After all, those movies weren’t half bad. What they had filmed over on the peninsula just now, though, that was mighty strange stuff. Science fiction, the unhappy kind, not his sort of thing at all. At any rate they’d picked a beautiful location with Port Levy. By the way, did Zach know that Peter Jackson Himself had filmed there already? “Heavenly Creatures”, a peculiar movie to be sure, but at least local history.

“Well, here we are.” Abruptly, Barley stopped the car and turned to Zach with a broad smile.

“What?” As far as Zach could see, they were in the middle of nowhere. The only man-made structure he could make out in the vicinity was something that seemed unable to decide if it wanted to be a heap of rotting timber or a rather derelict sheep pen. The rest was blue sky, green hills, and white sheep, with no sign of civilization whatsoever.

The man pointed to a narrow path on the other side of the road. “That’s the footpath to those Hobbit holes. The parking place for guests is a bit further down the road that direction.” He pointed ahead. “This is the closest I can take you. You’ll have to walk the rest of the way to Middle-earth.” Barley burbled with laughter at his own joke.

“ _Oh._ Okay.” And that answered the question whether or not Zach should have called ahead. Yes, he should have. Of course he should have. But for some reason they hadn’t spoken on the phone since Chris’s last visit. They had texted, the way they always did. Maybe more often than before. But they hadn’t called each other. Or Skyped. Or done anything else out of the ordinary. Zach got out of the white taxi.

“Are you expected?” the driver asked. “Should I wait here until you’ve made sure everything’s all right? Don’t want to leave you stranded. And if you end up needing other lodgings, my cousin Tara runs a bed and breakfast over near the harbor, and a neat place it is, too, if I do say so myself.”

For a moment, Zach was tempted. A Hobbit hole still sounded more like a practical joke than a holiday destination. “No, it’s fine ... If you’re sure this is the right place?”

“Sure I’m sure! That’s my job,” Barley replied, somewhat offended. He dumped Zach’s suitcase on the ground with a resounding thump. Then he pointed at a wooden sign on the other side of the road. _“Underhill & Overhill Holiday Homes.”_ The man grinned. “And it looks like you’re expected, all right.”

Zach frowned at the signpost. There were two signs. The one at the top was a wooden board, the writing burned into the surface. It looked rustic and weathered and pointed indeed an inviting arrow toward the green hills that apparently made up the “Underhill & Overhill Holiday Homes”. The other sign was made of cardboard and tied to the post with hot pink ribbon. The swirly, artsy font was an obvious play on the movies. _“No admittance except on Zach-sy business”_ the careful calligraphy announced to the world.

_Only Chris._ Zach suppressed a groan. “Yeah.” He pulled out his wallet to pay the fare.

“Seems like she’s really eager to welcome you.” The taxi driver beamed at Zach.

Zach shook his head. That hadn’t happened to him in a while, but it was hardly the first time. It was no big deal. But somehow it was different today. Because this was Chris? “Yeah, I guess he is.”

The taxi driver just laughed, pocketed the money, and handed over his card. “Good for you, man. And if you need anything, like reservations, or a guide for sightseeing, give me a call.”

“Will do,” Zach promised. The taxi roared away, and Zach was left standing by the roadside with his suitcase and his backpack. From a few feet away, a sheep regarded him with serious suspicion.

_“Zach-sy,”_ he muttered and started dragging his suitcase across the road. “Just you wait, Pine. Just you wait.”

The small wheels of his suitcase couldn’t deal with the pebbles of the footpath, so Zach ended up having to actually _carry_ his baggage. The path also turned out to be much longer than the sign with its cheerful arrow implied, leading him past not just one, but three picturesque crossings. First a second path led off to “Overhill Homes”. Then another track branched off to “Underhill 1” and a third to “Underhill 2”. At least Chris had provided more of his silly cardboard signs to keep Zach from getting lost. Finally, the way veered to the right and dipped into a dell.

For a breathless moment, Zach wondered if he had ended up in Middle-earth for real by mistake. Because Chris had not exaggerated: Zach was looking at an honest-to-goodness Hobbit hole. The facade was half-timbered with cream-colored wattle-and-daub and dark wooden beams. Apart from that, the structure looked like a grass-covered hill. The only thing missing from the meadow on the roof were sheep, and Zach wasn’t willing to bet on their absence just because none of those creatures was in sight. The round, wooden door was painted red and sported a brass knocker at the center. From an equally round, red-framed window next to the door a flood of crimson nasturtiums spilled to the ground.

Zach walked up to the door. Above the knocker a small, hand-written scrap of paper was taped to the door with colorful Band-Aids. _“Chris Pine,”_ the sign announced to the world, ballpoint bold. Apparently Chris had decided to devote his calligraphy skills only to Zach. He took a deep breath and knocked. _Middle-earth_ , he thought. _Because of course an ordinary vacation in New Zealand is not enough to satisfy one Christopher Whitelaw Pine._

For a long moment, nothing happened. The sky was blue, the grass was green, the sun was warm (sort of; at least it wasn’t cold – sixty-ish to seventy-ish, typical for South Island late summer/early fall). And it was silent. Very, very silent. The only sound the buzzing of the bees in the flowers.

Suddenly the door opened, and Chris stood there and stared at him. “What the fuck, Zachary,” Chris said with a fragile smile. “You couldn’t have called? Or texted? _Or something?_ ” His words were an exact echo of Zach’s welcome for Chris at the Booth Theatre a few weeks ago. Only much softer, a whisper instead of self-assured, friendly sarcasm.

As if to emphasize this unexpected insecurity, Chris licked his lips. For a moment everything between them – the time that had passed since their last meeting, the distance Zach had to cover to come here, the difference in their experiences in life, the profound change in their relationship – solidified. Strands of separation spun out to weave a tangled web around them, or maybe a magic cloak that didn’t turn Chris invisible but into a stranger. Zach thought of what it must have cost Chris to come to him in New York the way he had done. Not just once, but twice. Now it was his turn.

“I’m here, Chris,” he said. “I’m here.” He took a step toward Chris and crossed the chasm between them. He pulled Chris close, closer, until a deep breath was enough to plunge them into a kiss.

When they stopped kissing, Chris sighed. “It’s like this is more difficult for you than for me.”

Zach didn’t let go of Chris. To feel him in his arms like that, warm and solid, that was vital, right now. Definitely not common, and absolutely essential. He considered Chris’s comment, and three things occurred to him. One, that Chris wasn’t ready to admit how difficult all of this was for him yet. Two, Chris was ... well, not _right_. But three, also not completely wrong. Zach had reached a stage in life, had created a sphere of life for himself, where he could be true to himself without much compromise. The partners he’d chosen had slid in and out of this life easily. Perhaps too easily.

“Not _more_ difficult, I don’t think,” Zach said at last, “but yeah, definitely difficult.”

Chris ducked his head. “Sorry.”

“Idiot.” Zach wrapped Chris into a tight embrace and claimed another kiss. “You’re trouble, Princess. No doubt about that. But I’m here. That should tell you something. Now, how about getting my stuff into your damn Hobbit hole before the sheep eat it or a dragon carries it away?”

♦

Chris dragged his suitcase into the master bedroom, while Zach followed with his backpack. Apparently that was enough normalcy in close proximity for Zach to get over the initial awkwardness. Because if he hadn’t been totally disgusting after way too many hours on planes and in taxis, he would have jumped Chris then and there. As it was, he crowded Chris against the Narnia-sized wardrobe, kissed him with abandon, and only drew back to say: “I’m gross. Shower with me?”

Chris snorted with mock disgust. “How could I ever decline such a tantalizing proposition?”

“You couldn’t,” Zach replied with conviction.

He was right, too, because a short time later he found himself in the shower with Chris in his arms, naked, wet, and wonderfully hot.

The bathroom was ridiculous, way too huge for Zach’s idea of a Hobbit hole, and carved into the hillside like a cave. The promised Jacuzzi was built into a cozy corner with sufficient space to surround it with candles and champagne buckets. Even the sauna appeared to be spacious. With flagstones and warm woods, the whole room was very organic. _Hobbity._ French doors led outside. The backyard looked like a natural dell and not like an artificial creation. Beyond the terrace, Zach glimpsed a pool designed like a lake. To match that design approach, the shower in the bathroom was styled like a real _waterfall_.

“There must be a word for that,” Zach mused, kissing Chris’s neck through the hot spray of the shower. “The distance that time and space create between people when they meet again. That moment of awkwardness. And for how you get over it.”

“Of course there’s a word for it,” Chris said. “More than one, even. And more than one cure, too.” Raising his head, he captured Zach’s mouth in a wet, watery kiss. “This is definitely one of my favorite remedies.” He wrapped his arms around Zach’s back, until his hands rested just above his ass. “Sex is another.” Chris pushed his erection against Zach. “But it is weird,” Chris admitted, and Zach could feel his heartbeat against his chest.

“Yeah.” Zach nodded. He nuzzled at Chris’s neck. “It’s better now, though, isn’t it?” He yawned. “I know you’re not supposed to nap with jet lag.” He leaned against Chris. Their dicks pressed against each other with slippery friction, and he enjoyed the soft, sizzling sensation that sparked in his stomach. “But I’m afraid this time, I’m gonna fall asleep after ...”

“How about this?” Chris sank to his knees in front of him. “I suck you off, and then we take a nap together. You don’t need to be _on_ tomorrow or anything, after all. We can just hang out here and do nothing. Enjoy your jet lag while you can.”

Chris didn’t wait for Zach’s obvious comeback (“Chris, you’re crazy.”) and sucked him in deep. Then he just held Zach’s cock in his mouth, lips curled inwards as protection from his teeth. He drew back with a sigh, only to surge upward again with breathtaking abandon. And Zach was too tired to do much more than lean back against the warm, wet wall and cant his hips forward. He hadn’t forgotten Chris’s delighted complaints about how Zach had “tortured” him with his tongue last time. Now Zach was provided with ample proof that Chris gave as good as he got. The surreal, floating feeling of jet lag didn’t help. Zach dissolved into the sensations of Chris’s mouth. His lips, his kisses. The careful pressure of his teeth. One hand digging into Zach’s ass, the other stroking his hip.

“God, Chris.” Zach couldn’t keep himself from thrusting. “Fuck. Sorry.”

Chris just grinned up at him and placed his right forearm across his lower belly. And damn it, Chris was _strong_. Those action hero muscles he sported weren’t just for show. Zach bucked against him and got exactly _nowhere_. Smiling, smirking even, Chris pulled away. His wet hair was plastered against his skull. Drops of water spilled down his cheeks like tears, even clinging to his lashes. He tilted his head back and looked up at Zach. His pupils dilated with desire and darkened his eyes. But nothing could overshadow the blue of his irises. Like the summer sky. Soft, though. More like a misty morning. And the expression in his eyes ... so unshuttered. As if his very soul was within reach, just a kiss away.

_“Chris ...”_ Zach sighed.

Again Chris didn’t reply. Instead, he gripped Zach’s hips with both hands and rubbed his face against Zach’s stomach like a cat. With a pleased sound, perhaps a growl, perhaps a purr, he proceeded to kiss and lick his way down Zach’s groin to his cock. Chris twirled his tongue in circles around Zach’s dick, teasing the juncture between penis and stomach.

“So hot, Zach,” he breathed, mouthing at the base, just succulent lips and clever tongue. Zach shivered, because Chris’s tongue was cooler than the hot water splashing down on them, an unexpected and strangely arousing contrast of temperatures.

And because Chris was a fucking _tease_ , he drew back yet again, only to concentrate on the head of Zach’s cock next, delicately trailing the glans, then playing with the slit, then sliding lower again, tracing the vein on the underside. Zach could tell that Chris hadn’t done this very often by how much devastating attention he paid to all those details and how he skipped from one spot to the next in the thrill of discovery. That realization rushed through Zach so hot and so hard that his balls tingled and tightened. From one second to the next he was close, so close, _too damn close_ , and too exhausted to control himself for very much longer. He wanted to warn Chris, wanted to beg for more, but he only managed to groan, his head thrown back against the wall.

Chris, however, had been watching Zach carefully. Without warning, he took Zach’s dick deep, deeper than Zach would have believed possible, considering Chris’s level of experience. And oh God, Zach was grateful for how firmly Chris held him pressed against the wall, because he couldn’t help himself – he had to push into Chris’s mouth, had to thrust, and he so didn’t want to make Chris gag, didn’t want to spoil the moment. Chris sucked, hard, and Zach felt himself slide. But suddenly he didn’t want it to end like that. No matter how much the thought turned him on to come like that, his dick deep in Chris’s mouth, or maybe even spilling all over Chris’s face (after all, cleaning up was no big deal in the shower). No, that was not how he wanted Chris now. Not the first time after weeks of separation. Because it was not about sex, whatever there was between them. It was so much more, and that’s what Zach wanted now.

“Up,” Zach gasped, “get up. Please—”

Chris made a displeased sound at the back of his throat that vibrated against Zach’s dick, pushing him even closer to orgasm. But Chris obeyed all the same. Reluctantly he pulled back and hauled himself up on unsteady legs. They leaned against each other, weak-kneed and wet. No vestige of distance or awkwardness remained now. Only naked skin on naked skin. Their cocks, trapped between their bodies, hot and slick, rubbed against each other, and Zach gasped a kiss against Chris’s mouth. “Yes, like this. Need to hold you. Kiss you.”

They reached between their bodies at the same time, and their hands collided. Chris laughed, breathless. “Luckily, I’m somewhat ambidextrous.”

With his left, Chris gripped Zach’s dick, even as he moved his other hand from Zach’s hip to his ass. The brief respite before orgasm evaporated. Zach’s arousal sky-rocketed again, to that surreal level where pain and pleasure become indistinguishable. He curled his left around Chris’s cock, and drew him closer with his right, even though that made friction more difficult. But he needed Chris in his arms more than an easy orgasm – and he was already so close, so very very close. Then Chris dipped a fingertip into his hole. Just a light touch that barely crossed the line between caress and intrusion. But that sensation was enough to overcome the jet-lagged numbness that had helped him control his climax so far. Involuntarily, Zach tightened his grip around Chris’s cock. At the same time, Chris pressed his thumb to the most sensitive spot on his dick and slid his fingers up and down Zach’s shaft. Chris was not quite as adroit with his left hand, his touch a little uncertain, less firm. The effect was maddening. Within seconds the pressure inside Zach’s body built to bursting point. Gasping, he let himself go and spilled over their hands and their cocks and into the hot water of the shower. Chris followed a heartbeat later. He cried out, a high-pitched sound of helpless desire, and shuddered in Zach’s arms, his whole body tensing and relaxing in the overwhelming rhythm of his orgasm.

By now Zach had spent more than twenty-four hours on the road, on planes, at airports, and in taxis, crossing he-didn’t-even-know-how-many time zones between Berlin and Christchurch. His climax combined with the jet lag had the effect of an off-switch. If Chris hadn’t pulled Zach out of the shower and toweled him off like a child, he would have fallen asleep on the spot, never mind the hot water and the hard floor. But Chris even managed to get him into some kind of sleepwear, something blue with a pattern that didn’t quite register with him. At least Zach was pretty sure that it wasn’t a Star Trek uniform, so he figured it couldn’t be too awful. He was also much too tired to protest. Also, being manhandled by Chris like that was strangely appealing. Zach discovered that he didn’t mind much, if at all.

Sleeping positions proved a problem once more. He wanted to be spooning-close to Chris, but he needed to be able to see him, too, never mind that his eyes were falling shut while they jostled each other for a comfortable position. In the end they settled for the awkward entanglement of their first night together, and Zach managed the feat to drift off to sleep while Chris was kissing him.

♦

Bright light woke Zach. He blinked, disoriented. For a moment he didn’t know where he was, or why the light was on in his bedroom. And he was cold. At some point during his nap he must have kicked off the covers. _Oh, right._ _Nap. New Zealand._ He rubbed at his eyes and groaned. He felt hung over and achy. _More Zicam,_ he thought. _Definitely more Zicam._ Also, that nap had been a _really_ bad idea in terms of jet lag management. His internal clock was completely off. He had no idea what time it was or what time his body thought it should be. But Chris was right – he didn’t have to be anywhere tomorrow or do anything. Although he was sure they’d end up doing stuff and seeing things at some point, this vacation had a different purpose. Said purpose currently regarded him with thoughtful blue eyes behind thick hipster reading glasses. Instead of leaving him to his nap, Chris had stayed with him. Now he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a book in his lap. Outside it was getting dark, and the lamp on the nightstand behind Chris was switched on.

“Hey,” Chris said with a smile. He carefully straightened the green ribbon between the pages, closed the book and put it away on the nightstand. Zach squinted and suppressed a groan. “The Hobbit”. _Of course._ “Sleep well? I hope I didn’t wake you with the light.”

Zach stretched, long, lazy, and languorous. “Yeah. But it’s fine, Pine.” Then he blinked again, reflexive tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Though the light really is a bit bright ...”

“Oh, sorry.” Chris twisted around to turn off the light.

_“Urgh.”_ Zach groaned, blind in the sudden darkness.

_“Sorry,”_ Chris repeated, contrite.

“Nah, it’s okay. Also, this is better. And I did sleep well ...” Zach sat up to rotate the kinks out of his shoulders. To feel somewhat dazed was normal after such a long journey. And this – Chris, the Hobbit hole, all of this – was still weird, but a different kind of weird than before. He rubbed his eyes again and thoughtfully scratched his stomach. Slowly, he was waking up for real, and his mind turned to whatever was left of the evening. They could get up, of course. Chris could show him the rest of his Hobbit hole. Maybe they could even venture out of their burrow for a short walk before it got too dark? Or they could stay where they were and ... His eyes were getting used to the dim light now. He could make out Chris, who seemed to be utterly engrossed in his appearance. Instinctively, Zach followed Chris’s gaze. And blinked. Once. Twice. He spread his arms and stared at himself. For a moment he wondered if his jet lag was way worse than he’d assumed. Then he remembered just who he was in bed with. And worse, whose pajamas he was currently wearing.

“Chris,” Zach said, his voice low and _very_ soft. _“Christopher.”_

Chris jumped, the look of alarm on his face visible even in the dusk. “... yes?”

“Why. Am. I. Glowing?”

For breathless seconds, Chris stared at him with quivering lips, hands raised in a helpless struggle for composure. He lost the good fight. With a strangled gargle, Chris slumped back against the pillows. He lifted his head and tried to speak, only to flop back again, wheezing and flailing with laughter.

“Because you are ...” Chris attempted to point a finger at Zach. He didn’t manage; he was laughing too hard to keep his hand up in the air. “... you are wearing ... my ... _my_ _glow-in-the-dark Milky Way PJs!_ ”

Chris succumbed to another fit of giggles, before he managed to calm down. When he was no longer gulping for air, he suddenly scrambled for his nightstand. “And—” He giggled again. “And I need a picture. For posterity.” Now he was cackling. “God, I should set up an Instagram account just for this—”

Zach lunged for him before Chris could get anywhere near his phone.

“But the public needs to know—”

Zach shut him up with a kiss.

“But this is impor—”

Another kiss. And _another._ Until Zach lay stretched out all over Chris, with Chris clinging to him like a love-struck octopus, still chuckling softly, his glasses askew. Carefully, Zach removed his glasses and put them on the nightstand. Then he buried his hands in Chris’s newly spiky, very tousled hair, holding his head in place so he could kiss him again (and again). The corners of Chris’s eyes were still crinkled from laughing so hard and wet with tears. And his _eyes ..._ Zach inhaled a shaky breath. He was looking into the heart of a sapphire. He traced those ridiculous crinkles with a fingertip. Suddenly he wanted to taste those silly, happy tears. He was hard, and so was Chris. But Zach felt more than arousal now. His stomach fluttered with a million feelings, all of them tender and fragile and still so very new.

“Yes,” Zach agreed, because that was the safest thing to do. _“This is important.”_

He kissed Chris again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The glow-in-the-dark pajamas were inspired by the "Solar System" line of "Make It Good", makeitgoodpdx at Etsy.
> 
> (An Instagram Zach never posted in public.)


	3. Riddles In The Dark (And A New Notebook)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ## Riddles In The Dark (And A New Notebook)

Eventually, they made it out of bed. By then it was way too late for any outdoor adventures. But Zach did get the grand tour of the Hobbit hole, and at the end he had to admit that it was at the very least homey.

First and foremost, the kitchen. Spacious, with square lattice windows and a barrel-vault ceiling, the kitchen was equipped with every gadget an amateur cook could dream of. (“All The Toys, Zach, seriously, I swear.”) Zach was introduced with much ceremony to a shiny red KitchenAid™ mixer that Chris wanted to marry. (“Will you look at that, Zach? Just look at her. What a beauty. Why don’t I have one in L.A. yet? Those Hobbits sure know how to live.”) Of course, there was also a luxury coffee maker that would produce all caffeinated beverages known to mankind, and probably a few as-yet-undiscovered ones. But as a means of survival in the wilderness (no LAMILL or Intelligentsia nearby, not even a Starbucks around the corner) that machine warranted no further commentary.

The solid wooden table was surrounded by three comfortable upholstered chairs and a bench. More sofa than bench, really, and cozily squeezed into the corner next to the open fireplace. A rectangular door led out to the backyard. Apparently the amenities of Hobbit living didn’t just include a pool in the garden, but also a small, but well-maintained vegetable plot. (“Just salad and herbs and stuff. _Tomatoes, of course._ ” The irritated undertone made Zach guess that the tomatoes were bigger than Chris’s own.)

Next came the dining room. With _skylights_. And skylights at night in make-believe Middle-earth (or the middle of nowhere in New Zealand) meant stars, stars, and more stars. The Milky Way was clearly visible – up in the sky, and not just on the ridiculous pajamas Zach was still wearing. That was already damn impressive, but the dining room was also a showcase for light fixtures.

Arrangements of candle sconces were scattered across bare white walls instead of paintings. The ceiling light was a chandelier in the form of corals or roots. Designer candelabra graced a long banquet table. Zach didn’t recognize the wood, but the texture fascinated him. With strong color contrasts and swirling lines, the surface of the table looked like a map. Apparently the carpenter had thought so, too: a corner of the table sported a pyrographic compass rose, and the fabric of the upholstery echoed the motif with a pattern of old maps. On a sideboard, a series of candle holders formed a parade, arranged by size: Hobbit-tiny, dwarf-small, people-big, and even troll-XXL. Zach’s fingers itched to play with sizes and perspectives. Clearly, he had underestimated the Instagram opportunities of Hobbit holes.

He turned to Chris. “I have to admit your taste in interior design is excellent. Even when applied to renting Hobbit holes.”

“So you approve? That’s a relief.” Chris beamed at him. “And I haven’t even demonstrated the chandelier yet.”

“I was wondering about that ...” Zach admitted, glancing at the globe of twisting limbs at the ceiling.

“You need to stand near the middle of the room,” Chris said. “And close your eyes. I’ll say when.”

“When?”

“Subpar, Zachary.” Chris shook his head with exaggerated disappointment. He’d put on his contacts again, so Zach got the full experience of his wicked blue gaze. “Jet lag seems to have adverse effects on your customary standards of witticism. Now shut your eyes.”

Zach obeyed. He heard Chris flick off the wall sconces. Darkness enfolded him, and he grew aware of how utterly silent it was in the house. Out here there was no traffic, no man-made noise at all. The only thing he could hear was his own breathing and a soft sound as Chris shifted on his feet next to the door. Chris was still waiting for the right moment to switch on the chandelier, drawing out the suspense until Zach’s heart couldn’t seem to help itself and started beating faster.

Finally, Zach heard the snick of the switch. Light flared up and brightened the darkness behind his lids.

“Open your eyes,” Chris whispered.

Zach found himself transported into a magical forest. Dark trees with gnarled roots surrounded him. Sinister branches and twisting vines swayed ever so slightly in a breeze he couldn’t feel. The white walls made sense now: they formed the canvas for the shadow painting of the chandelier. Spontaneously, Zach tried to create a bat with his fingers to add some wildlife to the forest and failed. But when he crossed his hands and aligned his thumbs, a bird flew through the shadowy trees. _Surreal._ Now he only had to convince Chris to take a picture of that ...

Then he remembered one of the scarier riddles from “The Hobbit” and couldn’t resist: “ _‘It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, and empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, ends life, kills laughter ...’_ What is it, my _preciousssssss_?”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Chris cast an uneasy glance at the dark forest the dining room had turned into. “But I guess you’re right. This definitely has that whole ‘riddles in the dark’ vibe going. And it fits the Mirkwood chapter, too.” He shuddered.

Zach suddenly remembered how much Chris disliked the dark. Uncomfortably, he recalled the evening when John and Simon had somehow managed to get that little tidbit out of Chris and proceeded to torture him accordingly.

“It’s normal that darkness invokes primal terror in you,” Zach lectured gently, warming quickly to a favorite topic. “You need to treat it as an invitation from your subconscious to confront your fears and your Shadow.”

Instead of dismissing Zach’s kitchen-sink psychology with a pseudo-intellectual rebuttal, Chris looked only more troubled. A reminder that there must be very real fears lurking in Chris’s mind right now, given their situation.

“Hey, just pretend we’re _Where The Wild Things Are_ ,” Zach quipped, quirking his eyebrows. He walked over to Chris and playfully put his arms around him, trying to lighten up the mood. “I mean, what could Captain Kirk and Jack Ryan possibly be scared of?”

Chris shrugged – shrugged him off. “Now that’s a _big_ question, isn’t it?” Chris quoted one of Zach’s interviews. “Because fear is so _interesting_ ,” he drawled and stepped away. “Cockroaches. Spiders. Frogs _._ _Mediocrity_. I’m boring.”

“Don’t forget to mention prosthetic tails of alien cat people,” Zach joked. Chris’s aversion to the prehensile tails had led to terrible teasing about suppressed desires for tentacle porn on set. But Chris had always endured the ribbing with good humor. “Now, there’s an interesting fear,” Zach went on, perhaps a little too determined to keep things cheerful. “Freud would get a kick – or maybe rather a dick – out of that one.” The moment the words left his mouth, Zach knew he’d made a mistake.

“I’m glad you’ve discovered at least something interesting about my fears,” Chris snapped, switched off the light, and disappeared in the living room on the other side of the hallway.

The living room shared the chimney with the kitchen, and it boasted an even bigger open fireplace. Apart from that, it sported a high-end flat screen TV and surround system as well as an Xbox and a PlayStation to keep guests entertained on rainy afternoons. Two overstuffed armchairs and two almost indecently comfortable sofas were piled high with colorful pillows and warm throw blankets. Chris was slumped on one of the sofas now, staring at the unlit fireplace. Zach sat down next to Chris but didn’t touch him.

“Fuck Freud,” Chris muttered. “And fuck you, with your fearlessness. It’s not as if I don’t _try_ to be as fearless as possible, too.”

“I know that, Chris,” Zach said. “And _you_ know that was an interview.” Then he added, “I’m sorry. That was a stupid joke. And not just because I know for a fact that you’re neither afraid of dicks nor craving tentacles.” Carefully, Zach reached out, resting a calm hand on Chris’s shoulder. At first Chris stiffened, but then he exhaled some of his tension in a deep breath. In a way, Zach was relieved. Not because Chris was angry and scared. But because Chris trusted him with more than his passion after all. “C’mere.” Zach pulled Chris into his arms again. “If it helps, I’m scared, too.”

“Yeah,” Chris said after a long silence. “It does, actually.”

Zach tightened his arms around Chris and leaned against him. Chris’s newly spiky hair tickled his nose. “Look, right now is not a good time for this. And I’m not saying that to be even more of a jerk, but I’m jet-lagged and you’re ... well, kind of keyed up. But, it’s okay to be scared. And it’s also okay _not_ to be. Like, what you said at the door that it’s not – difficult for you right now. This, it’s _your_ experience. I mean, I’m a part of it, definitely. But that must be the premise.” Chris softened in his embrace with a heartfelt sigh. _Good._ “And I promise I’ll protect you from any aliens with prosthetic tails in the future.”

“And from frogs,” Chris reminded him promptly.

Zach’s stomach growled as if it wanted to agree with Chris.

“Time for dinner?” Chris smiled, eyes crinkling again. “I’m afraid I’m all out of _cuisses de grenouille_ , though.”

“Now that you mention it ...” Zach’s stomach grumbled again. “Show me what you’ve got, Pine. And if you can’t dish up frog, I hope it’s at least a little more sophisticated than frozen pizza.” In fact, he’d be perfectly fine with frozen pizza; after a suitable sojourn in the oven, of course, and perhaps adorned with extra cheese.

Chris bounced off the sofa. “Oh, ye of little faith.” But he beamed at Zach. “I actually prepped something yesterday. I figured we might be _uh..._ too busy for proper cooking.” Now his smile turned shy, bashful.

“You’re too cute for your own good.” Unable to resist, Zach grabbed Chris’s hips and pulled him down again, until Chris was right on top of him. Zach kissed him, lips sliding against lips with soft, slow movements, so he could savor the warmth of Chris’s skin and his smile. Then he teased Chris with his tongue, tracing the outline of his mouth, barely tasting, before he plunged in. Chris returned the kiss with enthusiasm, gasping sighs against Zach’s lips, sucking at his tongue, hard. A breathless moment passed, with them staring almost deliriously into each other’s eyes, too close to see more than a haze of colors. Then Chris was kissing him again, nipping at his lips, sucking them into his mouth, then twirling his tongue around his, only to draw back and press sweet kisses at the corners of his mouth, and finally, when Zach’s stomach chose that exact inopportune moment to growl again, a tiny butterfly of a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Food,” Chris reminded him. “Man doesn’t live off love alone.”

“Man can try.” But Zach let himself be pulled up from the sofa and followed Chris next door.

In the kitchen, Chris made him sit down at the table while he kindled a fire. He even lit one of those old-timey candlesticks and put it on the table. Before, Zach might have made fun of Chris for his penchant of creating scenes while snapping a picture for his Instagram account himself. Now he just watched and wondered at that fluttery feeling in his stomach. Thankfully, observing Chris proved enough of a distraction from more meaningful emotional investigations.

The wine came first. “It’s supposed to be _succulent_ ,” Chris said, frowning at the bottle. “A Merlot,” he elaborated. “Abbey Cellars Bishop. 2009. Apparently that was a very good year.“ He smiled at Zach, eyes twinkling. And _of course_ he had to start humming Frank Sinatra before he could open the bottle and set it to breathe.

Zach couldn’t resist smelling for himself. He reached for the bottle and inhaled. Definitely fruit-driven. _Very berry_ , he thought. If the flavor kept the promise of this rich, ripe scent, he wouldn’t argue the extravagant adjective. And he was already imagining how it would taste on Chris’s lips. Talk about succulence.

While Zach was nosing the wine, Chris got a pot out of the fridge and put it on the stove. Next, a Panini maker made an appearance. (Chris had been serious when he’d announced that the kitchen came with All The Toys.) The bread Chris pulled out of a cabinet looked seriously artisanal, and the cheese smelled delicious even fresh from the fridge. A few minutes later, the contents of the pot were burbling away, and the fruity smell of tomato soup set off Zach’s stomach again.

Once the sandwiches were toasting, Chris laid the table with green linen napkins, spoons with wooden handles and heavy, green-tinged fleur-de-lis wine glasses. The soup bowls and plates he took out of a cupboard were simple brown stoneware. He filled an earthenware jug with water and placed drinking beakers of the same style next to it. It was all very salt-of-the-earth, rustic, and undeniably Hobbity.

 _“Et voilà, un croque-monsieur pour monsieur, sans jambon, mais avec de la soupe à la tomate.”_ Chris carefully placed a soup bowl and a sandwich in front of Zach. Then he had the nerve to bow with a flourish, one arm at the small of his back.

That was taking things too far. “I don’t think you’re allowed to Frenchify tomato soup and grilled cheese like that,” Zach protested weakly. “There are trademarks. Treaties. Things.”

“Really?” Chris returned with his own food. Sitting down, he frowned. “Okay then: ‘ _Aqui tem, o seu croque-monsieur sem fiambre mas com uma sopa de tomate_.’” He picked up his spoon. “I think the Portuguese won’t mind if I abuse their language a little bit.”

“Did you know there's a petition over at Change.org to prevent you from speaking foreign languages ever again?” Zach asked. “Something about you violating international humanitarian law the moment you open your mouth.”

Zach tasted the soup. One sip, and he knew it was homemade. Probably with tomatoes from the Hobbit garden in the backyard. His toes curled with pleasure. Closing his eyes, he sighed. _Pure bliss._

Chris snorted, and Zach glared at him a little. But Chris’s eyes only brightened even more until they crinkled with mirth at the corners. Chris licked his lips and just _smiled_. And Zach couldn’t help it, he fucking _loved_ that he was allowed to feel a little possessive and proprietary about that smile now. He tried the wine. Oh yes, succulent indeed.

“Don’t worry,” Chris said. “The Brazilian PR people taught me just a couple of phrases for that Ryan interview. Mostly hello and goodbye and wonderful-weather-today, and because I nagged them a bit of foodie stuff, like this one. The only other thing I know is _‘Pode dizer-me se a pizza vem com os tomates por cima ou por baixo?’_ and I’m pretty sure that doesn’t mean what I think it means because they kept cracking up whenever I tried to say that. Maybe it’s not quite as bad as that ‘Pinto’ thing our dear fans came up with, but I’m certainly not going to try that one in public any time soon. So you see, the world is actually pretty safe from my mad-bad linguistic skills.”

Thankfully Zach hadn’t any soup or wine in his mouth. The effect would have been embarrassing. “As long as I get exclusive rights to your talented tongue, I don’t mind.” He didn’t even pretend that he wasn’t serious about that, and took a decisive bite of grilled cheese for added emphasis and extra bliss. Because he’d been right about the bread, and the cheese was heavenly.

His spoon suspended midair, Chris gazed at Zach and sighed with the appreciation of a man savoring Lucullian delights. “You know, Kingsolver was right. She wrote that watching Italian men eat is a secret form of tourism. That totally applies to Irish-Italian Americans, too. And to you. Though I’m not sure I’d call it ‘tourism’. Voyeurism, more like. Food porn, even.” He licked his lips and declaimed, _“They close their eyes, raise their eyebrows into accent marks, and make sounds of acute appreciation. It's sexy.”_

Zach hid his blush behind his wine glass. “So it’s culinary quotes now? Our vocabulary games don’t do it for you anymore?”

Chris chased the last bite of sandwich with a deep swallow of water. He shrugged and spread his hands, a study in innocence. His mischievous expression ruined the angelic effect, however. “Just one of the books I’m reading at the moment,” Chris said. “ _Animal, Vegetable, Miracle._ It’s a good book, interesting. Even though the author is a bit of a fanatic about some stuff.”

 _“Hmm.”_ Zach finished his soup. “Trade seconds for another quote? Because I promise you, I can satisfy all your ... literary desires.”

“Watch me shiver in anticipation.” But Chris smiled at the compliment and served him a second bowl of soup.

“All right, then.” Zach made a show of eating the soup. He closed his eyes, raised his eyebrows, sucked the spoon, and sighed with pleasure. It was no hardship; the second serving was just as delicious as the first. When he opened his eyes, he found Chris staring at him, his face flushed, and a silent _ohhh..._ on his lips. Zach pushed the empty bowl aside and leaned forward. Thoughtfully, he sucked his lips into his mouth and watched how Chris inhaled, how the silent _ohhh..._ flowed into a soft _AHHH..._

 _“Tomatoes,”_ Zach murmured, keeping his voice low and sexy, a deep-voiced whisper, _“are lusty enough, yet there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity. But beets, beets are deadly serious.”_ He drew back and smirked. “Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume.”

“Jesus Christ, Zach,” Chris breathed. “We really need to stop watching each other’s interviews.”

Zach laughed. “But your performance with those blood oranges for ‘Ellen’ was very inspiring.” He reached for the bottle of wine to top up their glasses. “You’re right about the interviews, though,” he said, growing serious again. “Well, perhaps not that we have to stop watching them. I don’t see how we can. But, like, what I said about fear – about cockroaches and the nuclear apocalypse – that was me grandstanding. There are just ... things friends don’t know of each other, not even good friends, not even you and I. Things we can’t extrapolate from interviews. Our public personae, I’m not saying it’s all fake, but it’s definitely an act. At least not quite real. You know that, Chris. And that, we can’t have that between us now. We need to be authentic with each other.”

Chris pulled the candle closer and started playing with the melting wax. Zach hated it when people did that, but he didn’t say a word. And he fully expected Chris to complain about how he’d ruined a moment of romance with a relationship lecture. (It was a special talent of his that Jon had kvetched about frequently. Miles less so; but then _he_ had spoiled the mood often enough himself). A few minutes later, Chris pushed the candle away again and looked up, his eyes dark. _A stormy evening at the pool,_ Zach thought.

“Thank you,” Chris said quietly. “For what you said, now and ... before, too. For the way you said that. Like I’m real. Like _we’re_ real. You know, relationship-real.”

 _Oh._ There was that fluttery feeling again. Zach inhaled carefully, as if a deep breath might scare away any metaphorical butterflies in the vicinity. He would have liked to respond with _“Of course it’s a relationship!”_ But that would have been, well, not a lie anymore, perhaps, but also not quite true. Not yet, at least.

“Look,” Zach said, “I can’t deny that there were moments during the last few weeks when I asked myself what the hell we’re doing.”

Worse, without meaning to, simply with his silence during those weeks, he might have given the impression up until now that he didn’t think Chris was real, that he didn’t quite believe in Chris, in his bisexuality. Zach had been happy to fuck Chris the very first night. Then he’d just as happily proceeded to ignore the proverbial elephant in the room. And now? Zach knew it was still not the right time to talk about that particular animal in any detail – about all private and professional repercussions of a serious relationship between them.

Instead, Zach reached across the table. He was grateful when Chris didn’t pull away but entwined their fingers. “But, Chris? I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t real.”

He wasn’t the only one doing some cautious breathing right now. When Chris met his gaze, Zach was relieved to see a smile. Not as brilliant as before, perhaps almost hesitant. Maybe even more touching that way. Definitely disarming.

“Bed?” Zach suggested. “Now?”

♦

Zach woke pressed against Chris’s ass, hard and horny, ready to fuck, his arms wrapped around Chris’s body, one leg curled around his thigh. Morning wood was a thing, and it didn’t go away when you turned thirty, or even thirty-five. Zach exhaled. Inhaled. The warm scent of sleeping Chris. He had no idea what time it was. Might be three. Might be six. And it was so silent here at night. Now he was wide awake, and there was absolutely nothing to distract him. Nothing he could do except enjoy the pain-tinged pleasure of his unrelieved arousal, his cock throbbing against Chris’s ass.

 _Chris._ He was in bed with Chris. Such a surreal experience, still. Not just because of the jet lag. Another deep breath, and yeah, there was that feeling again. For a moment he experienced the strange sensation of feeling weak-kneed while lying down. _And why does the idea bother me so much that I am falling in love with a good friend, and vice versa?_ Zach wondered. _No,_ he amended, his stomach churning. _Not bother. It_ scares _me._ Involuntarily, he drew Chris closer. Chris squirmed in Zach’s arms and sighed, but he didn’t wake. _Chris._ Zach pressed just a little harder against him. Yes, he’d love to fuck that seductive ass right now. Of course he would. But for the first time in round about twelve years, Zach thought he might want to be fucked, too. Not that he never did _that_ ever, never mind his personal preferences. Contrary to what some people said, Zach was able to compromise in bed just fine. However, he didn’t actively want that often, rarely _needed_ that. Now he thought he might, though. Perhaps. Chris groaned. The rhythm of his breathing changed, and he moved again. A bad dream? Or had Zach managed to wake him?

That question was answered a moment later, when Chris reached around awkwardly, shoving a small bottle and a condom into his hand. “Please, don’t just tease me.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Zach whispered, running his hand up and down Chris’s side.

“I know.” Chris’s voice was hoarse with sleep. “Jet lag. It’s fine. I like sleepy sex. Just don’t expect any miracles.”

“Chris, you’re—”

“Crazy?” Chris pushed back against his erection, and Zach had to suck his lips into his mouth not to moan. “You keep saying that. Now come on. Fuck me. _Please._ ” With every short sentence, Chris sounded more awake.

“Talk about offers I cannot possibly refuse.” Zach slid his hand lower and tugged at the waistband of Chris’s PJs. With some awkward wriggling, Chris stripped off his pants. Obviously he was really in the mood for sex. Zach followed suit.

Of course getting rid of cumbersome clothes destroyed the mood. For a while they lay silent and naked in the darkness, shifting a little with each breath to get attuned to each other again. Zach could pinpoint the exact moment the balance shifted again, when Chris didn’t exhale but sighed. Zach echoed the sound and followed the slight movement with a caress, stroking Chris’s back, from his neck to his thighs, all those sculpted muscles and lean lines. His head resting in the crook of his elbow, Zach curled up skin to skin behind Chris. Close enough that he barely had to move to kiss Chris’s shoulder and to nip at his neck. For a breath or two, he pressed his erection between the cheeks of Chris’s ass and held himself there again, not moving, not pushing in, just allowing Chris to feel his arousal, letting his cock pulse against sensitive skin. Chris shivered in his arms and inhaled with a shaky gasp. Zach’s dick twitched greedily against Chris’s cleft. But crazy passion was not what Zach had in mind for tonight. This time, he wanted all those sensual, whispering words: soft and slow and _devastating_.

With that goal in mind, Zach forced himself to draw far enough away from his lover’s body that his erection wasn’t forced up against Chris’s ass anymore. The loss of contact was profound. _Think Vulcan thoughts,_ he told himself. _Mind over matter._ He rested his forehead between Chris’s shoulder blades and sucked in a deep breath. Chris’s scent was pure olfactory titillation. A lemony head note of clean sweat that revealed a heart note of sleepy skin, warm and generous. And the base note was still waiting to unfold ...

Using the fingers of his left hand in lieu of a brush, Zach painted invisible calligraphy down Chris’s back. Kanji, maybe. Or those swirls and spirals that constituted Vulcan script. A poem to appreciate the sex appeal of the spine, with a verse devoted to each delicate vertebra. As he followed the groove of Chris’s back with his fingertips, he felt oddly protective. Yoga had taught Zach much about a body in balance. Photo shoots of Chris might show off the Hollywood-approved figure of an action hero actor in his prime, but his spine told a different story, with uneven indentations speaking of too much stress and too much pressure.

When he reached the tailbone, Chris shoved back against him with a gasp. Zach grinned and interrupted his explorations. He placed his palm against the small of Chris’s back, warm, firm, and hopefully infuriating in its immobility. Judging by the strangled sound Chris choked out, his strategy was successful. But Chris stopped squirming, too.

“Yes,” Zach whispered. “Just relax. Let me ... let me ...”

He resumed his caresses. Another gentle line, a spiral drawn around the tailbone, he pressed his index finger into the cleft between the buttocks as a final flourish. Then he palmed Chris’s ass, spreading the cheeks with ring finger and index finger. By now his heart was pounding, and he was breathing hard, puffs of breath against Chris’s skin. Just with his middle finger, he began to caress the crease, to stroke lightly across the hole. Again and again, with gentle pressure. Small touches. A steady rhythm. He loved the intimacy of it, all the sensations. The soft skin of the pucker under his fingertip, the slight, coarse fuzz surrounding it, the smooth, firm feel of the buttocks, how Chris trembled under his touch, his harsh breathing.

When Zach had just about reached the limit of his endurance, Chris started keening, a needy whimper, easily the most beautiful sound Zach had ever heard. “Pull your leg up,” he asked. “Maybe use one of those extra pillows, might be more comfortable.”

“God, thank you,” Chris breathed. “I was about to go insane.”

A jerky movement and the rustling of fabric told Zach that Chris had grabbed a pillow. Then he felt Chris draw his leg up, shifting to give Zach better access. Zach used the opportunity to squirt a generous amount of lube on his hand before he settled back down behind Chris again. Goosebumps prickled against Zach’s lips when Chris shivered with the shock of the cool liquid hitting hot skin.

“Love getting you ready like this,” Zach murmured as he slid his index finger in and out of Chris’s body, barely grazing the prostate. “So tight. As if we’ve never done this before.”

“Four times. Not never. _Ahhh..._ ” With two fingers Zach was even more careful than before. His gentleness paid off in soft sighs. Even three fingers met no resistance.

“Maybe not mathematically.” Zach drew back and fumbled for the condom on the nightstand. “In terms of ass-fucking you’re still close to virginal.”

He rolled on the condom and decided to err on the side of caution with the lube, lathering himself thoroughly. Also, the slick sounds made Chris shiver, and anything that made Chris tremble like that against his body was good. Very good, even. He positioned himself and gripped Chris’s hip to hold him in place.

“I quote—” Chris groaned. “Please push—”

“No. No quotes. Not now.” Zach knew that he’d never live down that particular Instagram. He still did his best to _push in slowly_ , though. Once he was all the way in, he slid his hand around Chris’s body. But he didn’t reach for Chris’s cock yet. He merely rested his hand tenderly on Chris’s stomach, feeling each shuddering breath vibrate against his palm. For as long as he could endure, he stayed like that and didn’t move. He lost himself in this strange, physical connection, in almost sharing each other’s heartbeats. When he couldn’t stay still another second, he pulled out almost completely again, only to ease back inside very, very slowly. He was so close, so painfully close. But just like in the shower this afternoon, physical exhaustion was on his side, and gave him more time than he might have had otherwise. He let himself sink into the rhythm he created, into a gentle back and forth between their bodies. When he felt the wetness of Chris’s pre-come on the back of his hand, Zach faltered.

“Fuck, Chris.” He propped himself up on his right elbow. That way, he had a little more reach. Now he wrapped his hand around Chris’s cock. To feel him throb in his palm, hot and slick with pre-come and lube, was almost too much to bear. Zach pushed his left foot against the mattress for leverage and thrust harder. He was so close now. He couldn’t think anymore. Couldn’t think beyond hot, beyond tight, beyond – _Chris._ When Chris cried out, an unintelligible, helpless sound, Zach couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He melted into his climax and dissolved in mindless pleasure deep inside Chris’s body. Then Chris closed his hand over his. Together they slid their fingers up and down Chris’s cock, while Zach still shuddered inside his body. With a voiceless gasp, Chris spasmed, clenching hard, and spilled over their joined hands.

When Zach fell asleep a few minutes later, the deep pheromonic base note of Chris’s natural perfume revealed itself. Zach could taste the scent of Chris’s orgasm with every breath he took, at once tart and sweet, much like the wine they had shared for dinner. The flavor conjured up very pleasant dreams indeed.

♦

A warm touch on his shoulder woke him. Zach turned on his back and blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

“Hey.” Chris was standing in front of the bed, a big brown coffee mug in one hand and a glass of water with a bottle of Zicam in the other. “I figured you’d get mad at me if I let you sleep in very much longer.”

 _“Nrgh.”_ Apparently jet lag and sex in the small hours had adverse effects on his eloquence. Awkwardly, Zach pushed himself upright and accepted the coffee. Chris put the water and the pills on the nightstand and sat down on the bed in front of him, cross-legged and entirely too adorable for man in his thirties. He was barefoot (of course) and dressed in dark blue sweatpants and an oversize, bright blue t-shirt adorned with some artsy calligraphy in that awful Hobbit font.

When the slogan on the shirt registered with Zach, he almost spluttered the first swallow of coffee all over himself.

“What?” Chris asked, irritated. “It’s organic Arabica with soy milk. The disgusting stuff you always drink.”

“It’s not the coffee,” Zach wheezed. “It’s the t-shirt.”

Chris looked down at his shirt. “ _A happy hole & lots of weed, let's celebrate the Hobbit creed,”_ he read aloud. Looking up, he shrugged. “I like it.”

“You would.” Zach shook his head. “Only you, Chris.”

“Only _I_ , Zach, would go to the great lengths of not only buying terrible, horrible, no good, very bad soy milk, poison perfectly fine coffee with that disgusting substance and then proceed to serve it to you in bed. Also, there’s proper breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen.” With a sniff, Chris jumped off the bed and proceeded to flounce out of the room.

Zach remained behind, wondering how in hell he’d ever come to the conclusion that Chris was something like ninety-nine percent straight.

When he entered the kitchen a few minutes later, Chris was flipping over an omelet. The table was indeed laid for a sumptuous breakfast. At a glance, Zach took in a pitcher with orange juice, croissants, fruit salad, yogurt, very red jam, honey, and almost translucent ham. Zach dropped his cardigan and his gift for Chris on a chair, and cautiously approached the stove.

“I’m afraid I can only do whole egg omelets,” Chris said. “I actually tried making the egg white version, and I ended up with a very thin, but all the more pernicious layer of charcoal. Had to soak the pan in vinegar on low for hours.” He wrinkled his nose. “I hope you’ll survive a real egg omelet for once. We can go out for breakfast tomorrow, I suppose.”

“I think I’ll live.” Zach stepped behind Chris and put his arms around his waist. “Hi.”

Chris sighed, a happy little huff that made Zach smile. But then Chris stiffened. “Now watch me make a mess of things.” Zach could feel how Chris actually held his breath. And although he couldn’t see it, he was willing to bet good money that Chris had the tip of his tongue squeezed between his lips, too. Carefully, Chris slid the omelet onto a plate and sighed with relief. “Here you go.”

But Zach ignored the food in favor of a kiss. “Hey, slow down, sweetheart.” He switched the stove off. Then he picked up the plate with one hand and used his other arm to maneuver Chris to the table. Or more precisely, to the comfortable bench next to the fireplace. He was not in the mood for chairs. “Sit.”

Chris obeyed, and Zach slid in next to him, pulling him close. “Yesterday you told me not to worry about taking a nap because we’re on vacation. You know what? That applies to you, too. And vacation or no vacation, I’m not going to walk away because there’s no soy milk or no egg white omelet. Or because you’re wearing the most ridiculous t-shirt I’ve ever seen in my life. Or even because you dress me in fucking glow-in-the-dark Milky Way PJs.”

Chris sighed. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not.” Zach rolled his eyes. _Prima donna Pine._ “But seriously, calm the fuck down.” He tightened his hold on Chris and inhaled deeply. _A new perfume,_ he thought. Citrus fruits and bergamot and Tonka beans. It complemented Chris’s natural scent. “You smell nice.”

“Thanks. It’s—”

“I’m here, Chris,” Zach interrupted him, repeating his reassurances from the previous day. “I’m here.” He proceeded to kiss Chris, and that definitely helped, both of them. Maybe they should just spend the whole vacation in bed.

Then he remembered something. “And I have something for you.”

“For me?”

“Doofus.” He reached across Chris for his cardigan and the gift-wrapped parcel under it. “Surely you’re familiar with the concept? Gifts, presents? A token of my affection?”

“The omelet will get cold.”

Rolling his eyes, Zach picked up the fork. “Open up.” He fed Chris the first bite before trying the omelet himself. It was nowhere near cold, and wonderfully fluffy. He raised the fork for Chris again. “It’s really good, Chris. Thank you.” Instead of more food, he offered another kiss. Then he alternated between kisses and omelet – for himself and for Chris – until his patience ran out, and he put the fork down. “Also, if it gets cold, we can eat it cold. Or feed it to the Hobbits. Now open your present.”

Zach put the gift into Chris’s hands, hoping he wouldn’t notice that it had been surreptitiously opened and rewrapped. He needn’t have worried. Chris tore off the paper with relish and without a second glance. Zach stuffed the knuckle of his thumb into his mouth to keep himself from laughing when Chris stared in shock at the limited edition “The Hobbit” moleskine notebook in his hands, a glowing red dragon embossed in the satiny black cover.

“But ...” Chris started. Fell silent, and predictably opened the notebook. He nearly dropped it when he realized it was less than pristine. “Zach—”

“Yes?” Oh, there was that feeling in his stomach again. Fluttery. Devious. _Dangerous._ Demon butterflies with vampire fangs.

“You ... you copied _The Notebook_.”

Zach nodded. “You left it at my place. I ... well, I looked up a few things online, because you and the internet definitely don’t mix, and I think I’ve found your fan. So we can send it back to her when you visit me in Berlin. But I thought ...” He trailed off, feeling sort of stupid. “I thought you’d want to keep it, too.”

“Yes,” Chris said softly. “Of course I do.” He leafed through the pages, smiling and blushing, grinning and blushing even more, until he suddenly stopped and frowned. “You added new stuff!”

“ _Hmmm,_ possibly.” Now it was Zach’s turn to flush. He lowered his gaze, wondering if he’d overdone things again because he just _couldn’t_ leave well enough alone.

“What you said about _my_ eyes. And ... what I said about _yours_.” Chris gasped. “And the haiku. And ... a _quote?_ ”

“I seem to recall you have a thing for quotes, Mr. Berkeley,” Zach said. “And _I_ happen to have a thing for this one.”

 _“You know, it's quite a job starting to love somebody,”_ Chris read out loud. _“You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a moment, in the very beginning, when you have to jump across a precipice: if you think about it you don't do it.”_ Chris looked up. “That’s remarkably cheerful for Sartre. Thank you. And for taking on that job. Or for _uh..._ offering?”

Zach’s heart was pounding. He could feel the rhythm of his pulse down to his diaphragm. Almost as if he had to jump across an abyss for real. _“Chris.”_ He took a deep breath. “If you want me for that job, I’m yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  (Zach did post this Instagram when he was in Berlin again; it gave rise to much speculation on Tumblr in April.)  
>  **(Unnecessary disclaimer: the Instagram is fake, nothing but fantasy, and just an illustration for this story.)**
> 
>  **Author's Notes**  
>  • The answer to the riddle is “darkness”, just in case that isn’t clear.  
> • Many thanks to Zauza and F. for the Portuguese bits.  
> • “Pode dizer-me se a pizza vem com os tomates por cima ou por baixo?” means “Can you tell me if this pizza comes with the tomatoes on top or on bottom?” and of course “tomatoes” is a euphemism. For balls ...


	4. The Gathering Of The Clouds (Or: Pie Philosophy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ## The Gathering Of The Clouds (Or: Pie Philosophy)

“The advantage of New Zealand, or Christchurch at least, is that you see them coming,” Chris declared with satisfaction, before he turned left to leave the town and drive back to their Hobbit hole. “Also, there aren’t as many of them as in L.A. or New York. And they are different. I think I almost keeled over when that guy actually asked for _permission_ to take a picture and ask a few questions. Politely, too.”

“You did go rather pale there for a moment,” Zach agreed. For his third morning in New Zealand, they had met up with some people from “Zachariah” in a café at the harbor. Two or three Americans who’d stayed on for a vacation after filming had wrapped like Chris, but mostly local people from makeup and costumes – artsy types. That had worked out in their favor. They’d been caught as a group. They’d also had a good reason to limit questions to a harmless topic: Zachariah and filming. And as far as they could tell, no one had paid attention to them arriving and leaving together.

“Thing is, you’re never safe,” Chris said as they left the town behind. “Nowhere. Like, the other day, I was at the mall. Buying soy milk for you, by the way, among other things. And there was a young woman, and she recognized me and of course she had to talk to me. But she seemed okay, your typical friendly Kiwi. Sane. We were chatting, almost like normal people. The weather and stuff. And when I was leaving, you know what she did?”

Chris paused for dramatic effect, and Zach had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly where this was headed. And indeed, Chris raised his right hand, forming the _ta’al_. “This! I swear, I’ve never run from a shopping center that fast in my life. It’s crazy.”

Zach snorted. “Chris, you know there are Trek fans in New Zealand, too. _Karl_ lives here.”

“Good point.” Chris smiled but didn’t turn his head. “We got lucky again, though. At the café.”

There was no denying that. There was also no way they’d pull that off in Berlin (or New York or L.A.). They were both used to circumspect behavior toward their significant others in public. However, there was a difference between prudent reservation and feigning friendly indifference.

After this morning, Zach knew any such subterfuge was an impossible endeavor. Not because he wasn’t willing; he was realist enough to agree to any sensible compromise that would make their lives and careers easier. (He was surprised at how much he hated the pretense after just a few hours, though.)

But _Chris_. Never mind that they were both professional actors – Chris simply couldn’t do it. Zach had seen proof of that this morning, in a dozen aborted touches. In faltering gestures that never reached their natural conclusion. How Chris ended up nervously touching himself instead, stroking his thigh or his stomach, rubbing his shoulder or his neck. And that was discounting Chris’s expressive eyes that were not as easily controlled as casual movements. Zach was pretty sure that one of the makeup artists – a friendly woman with blond dreadlocks who kept calling Chris “sweet pea” – had known what was up at Chris’s very first glance in his direction.

To witness all of that got to Zach. Even more than his own studied nonchalance. To watch Chris trying so damn hard to keep up a façade of mere friendship (and failing spectacularly) was bad enough. To see how that _hurt_ Chris was worse. To observe how a very specific shadow of confusion and isolation seeped into his bright blue eyes. That Chris was clean-shaven today and looked absurdly young didn’t help.

Chris turned into the parking lot of the Hobbit holes, eased carefully into a spot between two other rental cars, and switched off the ignition. Zach stared out the windshield at green hills dotted with decorative sheep. He wondered about wrong moments and worse moments for difficult conversations. In his previous relationships he had displayed an uncanny talent to pick them. When Chris jumped out of the car, he took a deep breath and followed suit. He caught up with Chris at the rear of the car.

“Keeping us secret,” Zach said, “it’s not going to work.”

“No shit,” Chris muttered. “Sorry.”

How Chris’s shoulders slumped hurt all over again. “No need to be sorry, sweetheart.” As expected, the silly endearment jerked Chris out of his funk. At least it provoked a wry smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Zach went on. “Also, that’s part of the purpose of this vacation, isn’t it? To figure out some practical aspects. That includes personal limits in terms of public relations. And it’s better we realize that here and now than ...” He gestured at the hills and the sheep, thinking later, Berlin and L.A. and New York.

“Yeah,” Chris said and opened the trunk to retrieve the groceries. After breakfast they’d prowled the farmers market and walked away with quite a haul, from whole grain bread to savory pies for dinner (seafood for Chris, pork for Zach). “I ... I don’t know why this bothers me so much.”

Zach stepped behind Chris and pulled him into his arms. “You’ve never been in this situation before. Also, every relationship is different.”

“Zach.” Chris turned around, holding on to him a little too tightly. “I ...”

“Chris, it’s okay.” But Zach could feel him practically vibrate with tension.

“It’s just,” Chris started. Then he inhaled ragged breath and took a step back, leaning against the open trunk. “You’ve been through all that. And you’ve handled it with such grace and integrity. I admire you so much for that. It’s so unfair to you that there’s all that drama waiting just around the corner all over again. Just because I’m ...” He shook his head.

“Yes, it’s unfair,” Zach agreed. “But not because of what I’ve been through or not – and I was lucky, for me coming out has been an overwhelmingly positive experience. It’s unfair because it shouldn’t matter how you define your sexual identity or when you choose to explore certain aspects of that sexual identity or if you do so with me or with Iris at your side. _That’s_ unfair. To both of us. But most of all, it’s unfair to you.” Zach put his arms around Chris again and kissed him, deeply, until he felt Chris relax. “It _will_ be a circus because of Trek. But if we’re smart about it – and with a bit of luck – we’ll run the show.”

“From your lips to God’s ear.” Chris sighed. “Okay, let’s get this stuff inside.”

Putting away the groceries, the conversation inevitably turned to food.

Zach weighed the carton with free range eggs in his hand. “The café was nice,” he said, “even though my Eggs Bene weren’t by any stretch of imagination Eggs Bene.”

“The mustard sauce totally slayed you. God, your face.” Chris laughed, carefully stowing lettuce, fennel, and celery in the fridge. “Though it was a fantastic sauce, light and creamy and spicy and mustard-y and all.”

“Just in no way appropriate for Eggs Benedict.” Zach put the eggs next to the fridge on the counter.

“Then you need to suggest a new name,” Chris decreed. “Because you only object to the semantics, not to the taste, you snob.”

“Semantics matter,” Zach objected and handed Chris a jar of quince chutney. “Also, it’s a matter of principle.”

“And of convenience,” Chris said, staring blankly at the hand painted logo of the chutney. “Labels are convenient ...” He shook himself and slid the jar onto the shelf next to the jam. “How about ‘Eggs Mustiardy’?”

Zach snorted. “If you want to go there, I have a better idea. Did you know that one of the German words for balls is actually eggs – _Eier_?”

“No! Seriously?” Chris arched his eyebrows into semicircles of intrigued surprise. “I don’t even want to know how or why you managed to learn that in just a few weeks of Berlin.” He pondered the carton of eggs next to the refrigerator. “But I approve. Oh, the possibilities of wordplay that double entendre opens up ...” Thoughtfully, he licked his lips. A wicked gleam lit up his eyes, and he exclaimed triumphantly: “And the winner is – _Cumber Eier Batch Balls_!”

Zach stared at Chris. A stunned second later he had Chris against the fridge. “Christopher, I thought we had discussed that issue.” He kissed Chris, sucking his lower lip into his mouth, thrusting into his mouth with his tongue, and pressing against him with the full weight of his body. Minutes passed like that until they had to separate to catch their breath.

“Which issue?” Chris asked, his lips red and swollen, his eyes dark with arousal.

“Foreign languages,” Zach panted. “For the sake of my sanity, you’re not permitted to speak them.”

Chris put his arms around Zach’s neck, flushed, breathless, and fucking breathtaking. “But what if I want to—” He broke off and blushed even more, looking everywhere (the fridge, the eggs, the ceiling) but not at Zach.

Zach had an idea what Chris might have been about to say. He kissed Chris again, softly, and whispered against his lips, “Exceptions might be made for special occasions, depending on certain circumstances.”

“And what circumstances might those be?”

“The proximity of an available bedroom.” Zach stumbled backwards, dragging Chris in the direction of the door.

When he had Chris pinned down on the bed, Zach could feel his heartbeat in his whole body. And the way Chris gazed up at him ... his eyes so wide and impossibly blue ... Zach had seen that look before. In New York, and again this morning at the café. Fragile, almost fearful. Resting his forearms on Chris’s shoulders, Zach tenderly brushed a few particularly rebellious strands of hair out of Chris’s face, before he kissed Chris again. “You’re allowed to say it, if you want. In any language. And if you don’t know it already, I’ll even teach you the German version.”

Zach could feel Chris tremble. Chris inhaled, his lips parted. “Zach ...” Chris drew another shivering breath, while he worked his fingers under Zach’s shirt. Zach couldn’t help squirming when Chris stroked his sides. When Chris hugged him around the waist to pull him even closer, it was Zach’s turn to gasp.

“Zach.”

Another breath, another heartbeat. Zach couldn’t look away from Chris’s eyes. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

Zach had expected to hear those words. He wasn’t prepared for the effect they had on him. Each syllable hit him like a punch in the stomach. He felt winded – wordless, powerless. For a while he could only hold Chris and breathe through heavy heartbeats. Finally, he managed to pull himself together. “Chris?”

“Yes?”

_“Ich dich auch.”_ Zach sounded like Harold in a particularly nasty spat with Skunk, so he figured he’d pulled it off.

Chris’s shocked expression supported the impression. “What was that?”

“In this context? German for ‘I love you, too’. The literal translation is actually ‘I – you – too’. As you can imagine, a very versatile phrase.” Zach grinned down at Chris. “And it works even when you have a cold. _Especially_ when you have a cold.”

“Fuck, you may have a point there with how foreign languages should be off limits. That’s no fair.” Chris arched against him. “Say it again.”

_“Ich dich auch.”_

♦

They ended up baking pie in their PJs that afternoon. Because PJs were comfortable and had elastic waistbands that allowed for easier access to essential erogenous zones. And pie ... who needs a reason for baking pie?

Enamored, Chris bent over the basket on the kitchen table to scrutinize the organic apples they’d bought at the farmers market. (Braeburn and Granny Smith; supposedly the best mix for a pie, tart and sweet at the same time). That posture was too much of a temptation. Zach stepped behind Chris and hugged him tightly. Chris sighed, almost hissed, and Zach hesitated, nuzzling his neck. “Sore, sweetheart?”

The effect of the question was immediate: a soft flush that rose from Chris’s body and suffused his neck and face. _“Nrrgh.”_ Chris groaned. “No! That is, not really. Okay, maybe a little. Like, I guess I can kind of understand what girls mean with ‘fucked inside out’ now.” He blushed even more fiercely.

“That’s not helping your case, Pine. Or your ass.” Zach pushed against Chris, leaning heavily on the table, his back aligned with Chris’s.

“Jesus Christ, Zach.” Chris moaned. “Don’t do that, or I’ll have to beg you to fuck me again, and then we’ll never bake this pie.”

Zach rocked against Chris’s body. Not because he had any serious designs on his ass right now, but because Chris felt so damn good. “ _Hmm..._ you smell nice.” Gently, he nipped at Chris’s neck. And fuck if that position wasn’t tempting after all. “New perfume?”

“ _Ahhh—_ Armani. Code.” Chris pushed back against him. “Apparently my face fits the scent. Actually, I really like it. And the pictures for the commercials, I think you will like those. They are very stylish. Remind me to mail them to you.” Chris abandoned his apples. He twisted around to embrace Zach. “I swear, I haven’t been this horny since I was sixteen.” He kissed Zach sweetly, then gazed at him with his best puppy dog eyes. “But. _Pie?_ Please?”

Zach laughed. “What is it with you and pies? How can anyone be so addicted to pie? You had this artisan pie for breakfast, we’ll have those farmers’ market pies for dinner, and now you want to bake apple pie?”

“All the pie!” Chris grinned. “It’s pie day today. Actually, it isn’t, because that was on the fourteenth, but I think we can still have pie day. Because _pie_. And the breakfast pie had cheddar and chorizo and bell peppers and potatoes. How could you resist?”

“I have no idea.” Privately, Zach supported any pie plans, though. Well-fucked and relaxed, Chris looked better today than when Zach had arrived here three days ago and much better than when Chris had come to see him in New York on his way to New Zealand. Chris had also gained a little weight. Just enough to emphasize his muscles instead of his bone structure. The effect was delicious. Zach could tell that Chris felt better, too. He didn’t bitch about the weight gain the way he had with his supposedly “chunky” Trek figure, and happily blamed the good food all over the place in Christchurch (with a special mention for a pizza place they definitely had to hit next week).

“And that’s nothing yet,” Chris declared dramatically. “In L.A. I’d bake blood orange pie for you. With my very own oranges.”

“Who would even make that pie?” Zach wondered aloud, gently stroking curled fingers over Chris’s temples.

“I’m sure there’s blood orange pie,” Chris insisted. “I’ll have to investigate.”

“Let’s get this apple pie done first,” Zach suggested, but he didn’t move. The moment was too perfect. Too precious. He could stay like this forever, with Chris in his arms, the blissful scent of warm skin, lemon, bergamot, and apples in his nose. Or at least until Chris nudged him again with a plaintive _“Pie ...”_ on his lips.

Zach sighed. “I bet you drove your mother crazy as a child.”

“Possibly,” Chris agreed. “I’m the reason she became a therapist. Or at least that’s what my sister claims. Okay, so I know this is like a terrible sin, but I’m cheating on the crust. Hil, my makeup artist, pointed me to this little bakery in Christchurch where you can get really awesome crusts, ready for baking and all. So we can concentrate on the fun part. The filling.”

“You’re impossible.” But Zach sat down and obediently started peeling and slicing apples.

Half an hour later, Zach was peering with interest into a pot with apple slices, a dash of apple juice, sugar, and assorted spices. Chris sprinkled a tiny pinch of cayenne pepper over everything, and sighed happily.

“That’s the trick, you know,” Chris explained. “You need to _cook_ the filling. Only for a few minutes, but then it will be all gooey and yummy in the crust, and not like, chunky and chewy.” He spooned up a little of the apple mixture. Holding the spoon over his left palm, he turned to Zach. “Careful, it’s hot.”

With a cautious slurp, Zach tasted. Predictably some sauce spilled from the spoon and dripped down on Chris’s fingers. But Zach didn’t mind at all. He took the spoon away from Chris and put it aside. Then he lifted Chris’s left hand to his lips. Delicately, he licked across his palm and proceeded to suck the sweet apple mush from his fingers until Chris closed his eyes with a no less delicious sigh.

“You are, Christopher,” Zach murmured and drew back reluctantly because if they managed to spoil that pie, he’d never hear the end of it. “Very hot indeed.”

A few minutes later, they were sitting on the bench next to the fireplace to watch the pie baking in the oven. Chris had already transcribed the pie recipe into his new notebook to preserve their very special, extraordinary, and awesome pie day for posterity. Now they were simply snuggling, although Chris had brought “The Hobbit” from the bedroom just in case he’d get the opportunity to sneak in another chapter.

“You know, I’m not surprised that you’re reading a Hobbit book while living in a Hobbit hole,” Zach said with a smile. “But I almost expected to find you buried in non-fiction.”

“Non-fiction?” Chris turned around. He pulled his legs up onto the bench and wrapped his arms around them, more like a little boy than a grown man. Also, a man over thirty shouldn’t be so damn twisty when he didn’t put a serious effort into yoga or tai chi.

_“Hmm-hmm.”_ Zach had put on socks. It was sunny today, but cool. Once the sun was gone, the floor turned cold, and Zach wasn’t actually a fan of freezing feet. Chris, of course, remained barefoot, all pretty feet, delicate ankles, and long, crooked toes.

Chris tilted his head, mulling over why Zach might think he’d be into non-fiction at the moment. When realization dawned, he smiled. “ _Ohhh..._ those kinds of books.”

“Given your academic background, as well as your mother’s and your sisters’ choice of occupation, it didn’t seem like a completely implausible assumption, considering the situation,” Zach said, acutely aware of how convoluted he sounded.

Chris licked his lips thoughtfully and slid his right hand down to his feet, trailing his index finger back and forth across his toes. “Zach, if I’m allowed to say ‘I love you’, I think you’re permitted to ask how I feel. About, you know, being actively bisexual now.”

Now Zach turned to face Chris, too, although he refrained from twisting himself into a pretzel, content to rest his right ankle above his knee for a more comfortable position on the bench. He captured Chris’s hand and entwined their fingers. “So tell me.”

Chris sighed and rested his chin on his knees, curling into himself. “I don’t really know. I mean, I’ve always been attracted to men, too. Well, up to a point, I guess. Seeing as I didn’t actually do anything much about it. But growing up in California, and with my mom working as a therapist ... I was aware of what you can be. What I could be.” He fell silent and frowned, wrinkling his forehead in serious thought. “I think there was just this sense that whatever I am is fine before it became a practical issue. So I didn’t worry about it. And then when I got sexually active, I was really into girls, so ... that was easy. And then, one day I woke up, and it was a political issue. Because it’s not just who you might be, not just with whom you might like to have sex. That in itself – the enforced politicization of identity – is such an obstacle to self-discovery. It narrows down the choices you perceive.” He hummed to himself. “It’s such a subtle loss of innocence. You may not even notice for the longest time.”

The alarm of Chris’s phone shrilled. Promptly, Chris unfolded from his origami posture and squirmed around Zach, scooting out from behind the table. With heroic determination, he slipped on the padded oven mitts (cream-colored, with a pattern of black paw prints). Chris crouched in front of the oven window. “Hey, it looks about done. At least it hasn’t turned into charcoal. And it hasn’t exploded. Excellent.”

He opened the door and carefully pulled the pie from the oven. The aroma of apples and cinnamon and freshly baked crust wafted toward Zach, carried by a wave of warm air. Zach’s stomach growled at the scent. Chris set the pie down on the granite trivet in the middle of the kitchen table and sucked in a deep breath. He closed his eyes with the kind of blissed out expression that Zach would normally attribute strictly to high-quality dope.

Zach couldn’t resist. He snagged his iPhone from the chair next to him and snapped a picture. “And I shall call it ...” He paused dramatically. _“... the perfume of pie: paradise.”_

When Chris opened his eyes, Zach added. “When I post this to Instagram, that’s gonna be the caption. Or maybe the other way around? Or ... something else altogether? What do you think?”

“Waiting is always hardest.” Chris sat down on the chair opposite of Zach and pulled up his knees again, hugging his legs protectively against his body. He sighed. “Waiting for pie to cool, I mean.”

Zach raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. _He_ could wait. Predictably, Chris rolled his eyes. “When did you want to post that pic on the internet?”

“When we are ready,” Zach said. “But realistically, I think we should plan for Berlin.”

“May, then.” Chris kept staring at the pie, deep in thought. Suddenly he raised his head and smiled, that shy, sweet smile he almost never showed in public. “Just call it _‘pie philosophy’_.”

♦

The following day, in an effort not spend their whole vacation literally holed up (and to make up for All The Pies), they decided to go for a walk. The plan was to follow a track from Heathcote to Sumner, via Lyttelton. Chris had arranged for his driver to drop them off and pick them up again, so they didn’t have to worry about getting a taxi. The path was supposed to be well-marked and not too challenging. Perfect to get a feel for the terrain. That proved to be true; the greatest challenge was to side-step the cow patties liberally splattered across the path and to avoid the attentions of sociable sheep. Walking was good for talking, too, and soon their conversation emulated their relaxed progress, rambling along comfortably. Every now and again they paused so Chris could play with his camera.

“You know, yesterday? Your lead-up about books? That kind of surprised me.” Chris mopped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. The day wasn’t hot, maybe sixty-five degrees, but the sun was brilliant, and the air shimmered like glass. Zach was glad he’d insisted on hats in spite of Chris’s protests about how they were not in New York, for god’s sake. “I thought you’d be all about authentic experience.” Chris stopped walking. Aiming his Nikon at a particularly flirtatious sheep up on a boulder, he snapped another picture.

Zach slowed down, then retraced his steps to stand next to Chris. The light was so bright that Chris’s eyes were crinkling in spite of the sunglasses. “You need more sun screen,” he said and tossed the tube at Chris. He paused and let his eye drift. To blue skies and blue seas (Gollans Bay, if he remembered the map correctly) and grassy hills ambering with autumn. “And well, yes, I am. You’ve got this one shot at life, so you should truly live it. Not follow some beaten track just because it’s there.” He pointed at the narrow road they were following out of Lyttelton. “But I had my own phase of reading ‘those kinds of books’.”

“Douchequotes, Zachary.” Chris hooked his sunglasses into the open collar of his henley and obediently lathered up his face. “That phase, ordinary people call it ‘college’. And I know this must come as a disappointment, but Berkeley doesn’t actually offer courses like LGBTQIA 101 or ‘sexual identity for beginners’. Though I swear some people I know attended How To Be An Asshole 101 and passed with flying colors, too.” He handed the sunscreen back to Zach and hid his eyes behind his sunglasses again. “I can still get ‘those kinds of books’ whenever.” He licked his lips, then spat with a moue of disgust. “Eww, sunscreen.”

They continued walking in silence, until Chris abruptly picked up the thread of their conversation again around twenty minutes later. “Also, I can always talk about that stuff with my therapist. And I guess I will, too. Eventually.” He grimaced. For someone two therapists in his immediate family and someone who happily mentioned his own experiences with therapy in interviews, Chris certainly didn’t seem sold on the concept. “But right now I’d like to think things through on my own.” He turned to Zach, taking off his glasses again. As if he needed Zach to see his eyes right now, in all their cerulean uncertainty. “Well, and with you. If you don’t mind. Too much.”

“I’d be a really authentic asshole if I objected to that,” Zach replied succinctly and without hesitation. In fact, he was relieved that Chris had finally started talking, if in a somewhat circuitous fashion. (Well, he wasn’t precisely straightforward in how he approached the topic himself, so.) And their conversations were interesting, if frustrating on an emotional level.

Zach took his responsibility as a gay man in his position very seriously. It was a question of authenticity – that word again – and integrity. To do what he could. Because even if it was just a Tweet, you never knew who needed to see that particular tiny message. That things could get better, that you could make it. But what Chris had said the previous day, about the enforced politicization of identity ... Yeah, there was that, with its very specific, too often toxic divide between public identity and intimate self. Zach was finally able to define his public persona according to convictions he believed in with all his heart. For Chris, he had been willing to enter a life of compromise again. He was honestly relieved that they had ruled out that option. But he worried about Chris. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was less of a help to Chris than he ought to be: as a gay man, as his lover, and his friend.

♦

Two days later they decided that they were ready for a more challenging hike. Accordingly, they had Chris’s driver take them southwards to Akaroa to try out the “Nīkau Palm Gully Scenic Reserve” walk. Properly outfitted (with hiking boots, backpacks, and hats) and suitably equipped (with supplies for a picnic, several water bottles, and more sunscreen) for a real adventure, they set out.

The starting point for their hike was at a farmhouse hostel. They didn’t have to walk for a long time until the narrow road turned into a meandering path. Running roughly halfway up the coastal hills above Akaroa Harbour, the track soon lived up to its promise of spectacular views. Zach feasted his eyes on the scenery. The landscape of the peninsula, with its hills and mountains, definitely had a “Lord of the Rings” vibe going for it. Everything seemed expansive and epic here, in ways that made you wonder about what mysteries might be waiting just around the corner. The ocean reminded Zach of Chris’s eyes after an orgasm, and the sky seemed to have forgotten the meaning of clouds. 

A few hours later they emerged from the cool emerald shadows of a forest littered with palm trees onto a sunny slope with a rather grand view of the ocean and the coastline. Obviously, a break was in order. For some reason Chris had even remembered to bring a fleece throw. They spread the blanket across thick bushels of sun-bleached grass in a sheltered dell, at a safe distance from the path. Protected from the wind by a wall of boulders and screened from sight by a thicket of wind-swept broom, they enjoyed a ridiculously perfect picnic with whole-grain bread, artisanal cheeses and sausages, mixed salad in colorful plastic containers, and homemade apple pie for dessert. Zach sighed happily. Okay, that was _definitely_ the kind of island experience he’d had in mind for this vacation. Then Chris brought out his Nikon for a souvenir portrait, and thanks to a convenient rock and an autotimer that actually worked, the picture turned out quite nice – the perspective only slightly screwed up.

“So, labels,” Chris remarked a few minutes later, scrutinizing the label of his water bottle. “I get the appeal. There are definitions. You can start arguing semantics and politics and literary history. Opting out of labels, that’s douchebaggery. Because labels are not just about stereotypes. It’s not even about the communities behind the labels, but about people. The political element distilled into individual lives. But opting in ... I’m _thirty-three_ , Zach. I haven’t lived that label.” Chris waved his water bottle in a random gesture. “I mean, it’s not as if there is no label at all that appeals to me. I ... I really like the idea of pansexuality. That I’m attracted to persons. Instead of, well, _labels_. But it’s a very intellectual concept.” He shrugged uncomfortably.

“There’s nothing intellectual about my dick up your ass,” Zach said, a very matter-of-factly reassurance. He finished up his slice of pie and stretched, the sun warm on his face. The silvery clouds that lined the horizon seemed far away.

“Yeah, but what if it’s just you?” Chris asked. “Or what if my track record in terms of relationships wasn’t as cataclysmic? I’d still have my man-crush on Karl, I’d still be aware of how attractive men are to me sexually. And I’d think of how it could be with men – how it would be to have sex with a man, to fall in love with a man. But I would be married to a woman. I would remain married and faithful to that woman for the rest of my life. That’s the normative force of the factual, right there. Everything else I could be, everything else I could see myself being, it would be just theory. Possibility isn’t identity. Or is it?”

“I reiterate,” Zach said and plucked the bottle of water out of Chris’s hand, “there’s nothing theoretical about my dick up your ass. And though that makes _me_ kind of a dick, the notion that it’s _just_ me does appeal to my ego.”

Zach got on his knees and laid his hands on Chris’s shoulders. “And since we are already on topic ...” He pushed Chris onto his back and draped himself across his body. Framing his face with his palms (sexy stubble today instead of the more protective beard Chris had favored in recent years), Zach studied Chris’s expression. Serious, yes. Pensive, absolutely. Perhaps apprehensive. _Definitely_ overthinking things. But not distressed. _Good._ And he could feel Chris’s growing erection even through the heavy fabric of their jeans. Desire uncurled in the pit of his stomach. “How do you feel about outdoor sex?”

“Man, I don’t know ...” Chris frowned.

Zach ground against him. The sun warmed his back. The scent of autumn and ocean tickled his nose, and made him want to burrow down against Chris, to taste skin still cool with sweat from walking, or already flushed hot with lust. Abruptly, awareness rushed through Zach in a flood of adrenaline. How easily he might have missed out on knowing Chris like this, on feeling Chris like this.

“Please,” he wheedled. “I’ve got lube. I’ve got condoms.” He’d brought three; for a hiking tour of six, perhaps eight hours. He wasn’t quite sure if that indicated delusions of grandeur or more serious problems – like an incipient sex addiction, perhaps. He definitely couldn’t seem to get enough of Chris.

“Really?” Now Chris stared at him. Wide-eyed, wanting, but still timid.

“Who’s gonna see us down here?” Zach asked softly. “Unless paps routinely equip sheep and gulls with cameras now.”

“Wouldn’t put it past them,” Chris muttered. But the information that lube and condoms were within reach had kindled a fire in his eyes, and his erection felt much more insistent than before.

“I want you, Chris.” Zach lowered his hands to Chris’s hips and slipped his fingers under the waist of his jeans. But he didn’t yank the shirt free yet.

“Like this?” Chris asked, gasped almost, already fumbling for the fly of Zach’s jeans.

“Yes,” he agreed and began to unbutton Chris’s shirt. “Just like this.”

Getting out of hiking boots and jeans et cetera was damn awkard, but in Zach’s opinion so worth the trouble _and_ the risk. To feel the sun and the wind on his skin, and Chris naked under him, _Christ_.

“I’m gonna make sure those gulls don’t see much more than my ass,” he promised and fished a sachet of lube and a condom out of his jeans pocket. Zach knelt between Chris’s legs and stared down at him, utterly exposed, his nipples tight with the cool air, his cock heavy and full with arousal.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Zach murmured. Then he shook his head and bent over Chris’s body. “No. _Beautiful._ ” He kissed that enticing mole about an inch above Chris’s right nipple. And he might have spent an inappropriate amount of time playing with Chris’s nips next, but Chris reached for his dick. His grip was confident by now, but no less alluring than his more hesitant touches during their first few times together. Zach groaned and barely resisted the temptation to press down and rub against Chris’s cock until they both came, just like that, in a mess of spilled semen and sweat-slick, wind-swept, sun-kissed skin.

“Gonna fuck you now, Chris.” But when he was sure he had himself under control for a little while longer, he made no move for his lover’s ass yet. Instead, he kissed the triangular hollow at Chris’s throat. “The suprasternal notch,” he whispered. “Such a sexy word. Such a sexy spot. Makes you squirm every time.” When Chris writhed under him, Zach grinned – only to freeze when Chris exacted sweet revenge with skillful slides of his fingers up and down Zach’s shaft.

“Still scared of sea gulls?” Zach asked, breathing hard.

“Fuck me already, you fucker.” Chris arched against him with uninhibited abandon now.

“Soon.” Zach caught Chris’s wrists, pushed his arms to his sides and held him down. “First I’ve got a gift for you.”

_“Now?!”_ Chris’s voice rose, incredulous, increasingly desperate for release.

“Another quote for your notebook. A sex quote. I saved it for a special occasion.” Zach kissed Chris. _“Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words ...”_ He kissed Chris again, with conviction. _“Mixed with all the spices of fear, foreign travel ...”_ Another kiss, warm and firm. _“... mixed with novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, wine.”_ Finally, a bite, almost hard enough to hurt, sucked into the curve of Chris’s neck. “This is how we do it,” Zach whispered into Chris’s ear, trailing the shell with his tongue, nipping at the lobe. “This is how we have sex. This is how I love you.”

He would have laughed at Chris’s cross-eyed expression and leisurely kissed his way down to Chris’s cock if he hadn’t been more than a little desperate to fuck properly himself now. Zach tore open the lube, spilling a dollop on Chris’s dick before slicking up the fingers of his left hand. Probably fingering wasn’t even necessary for Chris right now, considering how often they’d had sex during the last few days. But damn, he loved watching his fingers slide into Chris’s hole, loved observing how Chris spread his thighs for him, loved feeling how Chris clenched around his fingers. Zach kept a light hold of Chris’s dick while he teased his prostate. He ground his own erection against Chris’s thigh to ease the rising pressure. God, that was _good_. But not good enough. Chris clawed at his back, hard enough to hurt, clearly sharing the sentiment.

A moment later Zach rolled on the condom, squirted the remaining lube over himself, and sank into Chris’s body with a cry. Despite his initial reserve, Chris raised his legs eagerly, drawing Zach as deeply into his body as he could. He was comfortable with the logistics of gay sex by now, and reached for his own cock without hesitation, allowing Zach to turn his focus inside. To concentrate on the rhythm of fucking, and on _holding_ Chris. For delirious moments Zach felt he could go on like that forever, see-sawing into Chris, dipping down to kiss sighs from his lips. Then a gust of wind hit his balls, icy and unexpected, and he came so hard his vision whirled with blue and golden fractals.

When Zach grew aware of his surroundings again, he lay sprawled over Chris, their faces pressed cheek to cheek. His dick was still softening inside Chris, and he was strangely reluctant to sever the connection between their bodies.

But another blast of wind made Chris shiver. And then a heavy drop of rain hit Zach’s ass. He pulled out and collapsed on his back next to his lover. Staring up at the sky he wondered where all the clouds had come from all of a sudden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  pie philosophy
> 
> (Unnecessary disclaimer: the Instagram is fake, nothing but fantasy, and just an illustration for this story.)
> 
> **Author’s Notes:**
> 
> Zach’s sex quote is from Anaïs Nin’s Diary, Vol. 1: 1931-1934: “Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, opium, wine.”


	5. The Clouds Burst (Into Pluvial Porn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ## The Clouds Burst (Into Pluvial Porn)

When Zach woke, he was lying on his back, his hands folded over his stomach. This “vampire” position, as Chris called it, was a left-over from Trek when he’d had to nap like that or risk the wrath of makeup for messing up his hair or ears. Nowadays it was a sign that he had a lot on his mind.

Just like Chris, who seemed to mistake Zach for a teddy bear, considering the way he was clinging to Zach right now ... as if he’d disappear the moment Chris let go of him. Suddenly Chris jerked awake and clutched at Zach even more tightly. Zach could feel how Chris’s heart pounded in a panic.

“Bad dream?” he asked unnecessarily. Chris mumbled something incomprehensible against his arm but didn’t move. Zach turned onto his side and pulled Chris against his body.

He wasn’t surprised at how Chris tended to express his feelings physically, awake or asleep. Chris might be careful with strangers, hesitating into hugs like a cautious kitten sometimes. In the personal space of friends, Chris had always behaved more like a puppy, exuberant and silly to the point that Zach wanted to put a leash on him. Words always turned into gestures with Chris, and ever since they had become lovers, his gestures overflowed into touches. But based on what Zach knew about Chris’s behavior toward his girlfriends over the years, he’d expected Chris to be different in intimate interactions. More demanding, less giving. Less ready to show the intensity of his needs, his vulnerability. And Chris yielding to him the way he did was incredibly arousing.

“Can you—” Chris started, then grimaced. “No. Forget it; morning breath. Sorry.”

Zach nudged Chris’s chin up. “I think I’ll survive.” He kissed Chris. The comfort of warm lips was more important than the stale breath of bad dreams. “Tell me.”

“It’s stupid.”

Zach brushed a few recalcitrant strands of hair away from Chris’s forehead, so he could see his eyes. “Fears and dreams aren’t stupid.”

“It’s embarrassing.” Chris buried his face against Zach’s shoulder.

“Tell me anyway.” Zach allowed Chris to hide, but he hooked a leg around Chris’s thigh and slid his left arm around his back, cuddling him even closer.

“IdreamedthatParamounttoldmeIamnotgayenoughandIhavetobewithAlicebecausethescriptsaysso.”

“What was that?”

“I ... I dreamed we’d planned – there’d be a press thing. With Paramount. Because of Trek, I guess. And ...” Chris took a deep breath that only increased the tension in his body. “When I wanted to go out there and get it over with, they ... they wouldn’t let me. They told me you were gone and that I ...” Chris groaned into his shoulder and couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Zach bit on his lips, hard. It wasn’t funny; not really. It was a fear founded not just in Chris’s psyche but in reality. “I promise Paramount has no script for our lives.”

Chris raised his head. “Are you sure?”

“Well.” Zach pursed his lips. “They might have one. Wouldn’t put it past them. But we never signed that contract. We’ll be fine.” Chris snorted but relaxed a little. Zach used the opportunity to press another comforting kiss on his lips, morning breath be damned. “Also, contrary to any rumors you might have heard, there’s no entrance exam for membership in the queer community.” He nuzzled Chris’s neck and sucked at his earlobe. “Furthermore, I happen to be a certified member in good standing, and I am willing and able to aver, avow, and affirm that you’ve aced the practicals.”

They ended up eating breakfast in bed, fruit salad and pancakes. Chris was in a much better mood, though quieter than usual. Still preoccupied, Zach guessed. Perhaps not thinking about the dream, but about ... things.

Eventually, Chris put “The Hobbit” onto the nightstand. He was halfway through the book by now. How he’d managed to sneak so much reading into the last few days was a complete mystery to Zach, because they hadn’t been inactive in any way of the meaning. Now Chris pushed his thick, black-rimmed glasses higher up on his nose as he gazed meditatively at the pointillist patterns the rain was painting on the French doors. “Guess that means we’ll have to stay holed up today.” The tip of his tongue peeked out between his lips while he pondered their options. “We could stay in bed all day,” he suggested. “Or ... have a nudist day – just never get dressed. A spa day? We could try out the sauna, and the pool. And the Jacuzzi.”

Zach could see exactly how another idea took shape in Chris’s mind. It started as a spark in his eyes and turned into a bright grin, which in turn crinkled his eyes with mischief even as he raised his hands, fingers aflutter. “And whoever had more orgasms at the end of the day buys dinner tomorrow.”

Before Zach could come up with a plausible way to refuse (though really, why would he?), he was already signing an absolutely ridiculous contract (with half a dozen absolutely unnecessary additional clauses that could easily double as a kink list) in Chris’s Hobbit notebook. By the time the sauna had heated up to 176°F, Chris was an orgasm ahead.

They turned the sandglass, and Chris bravely stretched out on the topmost bench. He sighed with contentment. Zach, relegated to the middle bench, needed a minute longer to get comfortable. Then he sighed as well. The sauna sported a tinted round window so they could still admire the pool ... or listen to the rain. The sound of the rain combined with the humid heat created a blissfully relaxing atmosphere. Within moments Zach was dozing and ready for a nap.

“So, sauna,” Chris started. “It’s a cultural thing, right?”

“I swear, if you start quoting lines from ‘ _So NoTORIous’_ _at me now, you will regret it.” Zach inhaled, carefully breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth._

_“Wasn’t going to,” Chris muttered. “But it is, isn’t it?”_

“Yes,” Zach replied. “Let me tell you about the long and fascinating history of sauna, about the Mayan _temazcal_ , about Roman baths, and most of all about the Finnish sauna culture. They even have one in their parliament building, by the way. And what they get up to with those birch boughs, man, you’d love that.”

“I might, at that,” Chris said, quite seriously, startling Zach upright.

Gripping the sides of the bench tightly, Zach frowned at Chris. But his lover barely opened his eyes, basking in the heat. Zach sighed. “You’re right, though. Sauna _is_ gay culture.”

“So what’s that like?” Chris asked, rubbing the sweat on his tummy in a soothing circle with his palm.

“Just because I happen to be gay I’m not an expert on all aspects of gay culture, Chris.” Zach should lie back down again and play it cool (or as cool as was possible in the current ambient temperature). But suddenly he didn’t want to stop looking at Chris. So he turned around, twisted himself into the lotus position, and sat facing Chris. “But yeah, sauna’s nice.” He propped his elbows on the bench next to Chris’s side and pondered possible explanations. At last he ended up simplifying things somewhat because he really wasn’t in the mood to discuss the finer points of body posture as an invitation to engage in specific sexual activities. “Think of it as a club,” he said. “With fewer clothes, and more condoms.”

“That does sound nice.”

Zach interrupted more infuriating tummy rubbing with a kiss on Chris’s belly button, twirling his tongue around it, tasting sweat and feverish heat. _Nice. Very nice indeed._

“Actually, gay sauna culture is supposedly in decline,” Zach said. “Though I wouldn’t know; I haven’t been in ages. Downside of fame et cetera et cetera. Cry me a river. But Germany is really interesting that way – in terms of sauna culture, I mean. Did you know that in their regular saunas they do the naked co-ed thing over there?”

That made Chris open his eyes. “Really?”

Zach nodded. “No wimpy towels and bathing trunks over there.” He couldn’t resist Chris’s slick body. Stroking his torso, Zach began to draw lines and circles into the clean sweat beading on Chris’s skin in myriad infinitesimal droplets. “We could go when you come to visit me in May.”

Now Chris sat up, too. “You think it’s a good idea for us to show our junk to random strangers who might or might not have a phone camera handy?”

Zach rolled his eyes. “Where are they gonna get a phone from in a sauna? Pull it out of their asses?”

“But you still need to shower and—” Chris shook his head “—they might.”

Granted, they might. Chris was paranoid for good reason. Also, the timing for a mishap like that would be less than ideal to put it mildly. But still ... _Berlin._ The city of Love Parades still had so much more to offer than merely vibrant mainstream culture. “Europe’s most infamous gay sauna club happens to be located in Berlin,” he said, as casually as he could. And although that really shouldn’t be possible at 176°F, his cock stirred. “It has a darkroom labyrinth attached to it.” Chris’s eyes widened, obviously imagining the details. Zach shivered in spite of the heat. “We need something to look forward to,” he whispered. “Something good and crazy.”

“That does sound ... tempting.” Chris licked his lips. But then he inhaled, a hasty, shaky breath and promptly coughed due to the heat of the air. “Crazy, though? I can guarantee that we’ll get that no matter what. And I have no idea how we’re going to do it. I mean, you handled it with so much aplomb. Two precise phrases – WHAM! BANG! – just dropped ever so badass casually into the conversation. Only, that won’t work for me. For us.” He glanced at the sandglass. “Time’s up.”

“No,” Zach said, even as he extended his hands and drew Chris to his feet. “You take as much time as you need.”

Outside, in the cool air of the bathroom, they leaned against the wall of the sauna next to each other. “Thanks for saying that,” Chris panted. “But let’s face it. We have to let people know _before_ I come to Berlin. I have to tell my family. Who have no idea, by the way. We have to talk to publicists and yeah, I guess, to Paramount, too. And for you, it was a deliberate statement when the time was right. When you did it, how you did it, you set an example. You inspired people. I’m doing it because playing tag with the paparazzi won’t work. I’m just doing it because sooner or later people will figure out that we’re fucking. Because subtlety isn’t my strong suit. And because—”

Abruptly, Chris turned away and stepped under the ledge of the artificial waterfall, turning the knob with a vicious twist. Zach followed him, and couldn’t keep himself from dancing from one foot to the other while his cock turtled in the icy deluge. Zach gasped for breath, as his brain went from “What the hell am I supposed to say?” to “Oh my god, cold! This is _cold_. Cold, cold, cold. Much too _damn_ COLD!” in the fraction of a second.

Zach caught up with Chris outside on the terrace. It was still raining, but after the subzero shower the rain felt almost warm on his skin. He stopped Chris at the edge of the pool. “Wait a second, will you?” Zach stared at Chris, tense, naked and wet, eyes stormy, mouth set and unsmiling. “You’re wrong if you believe that your story, our story, doesn’t matter. It’s important to show that it’s okay to fall in love no matter when or with whom.” When Chris relaxed a little, Zach promptly pulled him into his arms. “Also, you don’t fool me for second. I know you’re doing this for me, too. Because we _could_ drag out that terrible bromance angle for a while yet, even with you draped all over me in public.”

Chris leaned against him with a heartfelt sigh. “You said ... in Out, I think? I’m not sure; it was a while ago. But I do remember what you said – that no good can come from staying quiet. I’d be an asshole to take that away from you.”

“You’re not an asshole,” Zach said. But given the cue, he couldn’t resist. He cupped Chris’s ass in appreciation, fingers sliding between his cheeks, teasing. “In fact,” he went on, serious again, “you’re quite terrifyingly brave.” He moved his hands upward again to hug Chris around the small of his back. “We’ve spent seven _years_ inching toward each other, toward this. And now you’re rushing through issues that some people need a lifetime of therapy to sort out in a matter of weeks.” He pulled back so he could see Chris’s face. He needed Chris to really listen now. “Nevertheless, I do believe it will be better for us, for our relationship, if we do this sooner rather than later.” Considering that he’d never actually gone public with Miles that was a huge step for Zach, and he could see in Chris’s serious expression that he was aware of that, too. “It’s definitely better to get it out of the way long before the next Trek. Though I guarantee that Paramount will disagree – once they’ve realized what we’re handing them on a silver platter in terms of PR. But Chris? We’ve talked about this before, and I really mean it. It’s okay if you’re scared. And if you need to freak out. And really, it’s not as if I’m not nervous, too. So just ... talk to me, all right?”

“Okay.” Chris nodded. “I can do that.” He took a deep breath and a step back. Zach let him go. “Pool now?”

When they climbed in, they gasped at the cool water on their still sauna-hot skin. But soon they were striking out vigorously, cooling down and staying warm at the same time, and making the most of the pool. The fairly large basin was rectangular and styled like a natural lake, with sections with aquatic plants partitioned off to act as natural water filters. Swimming, the regular rhythm of moving and breathing helped Zach to regain his equilibrium, and to think things through. What to do next. What not to do. What he didn’t want Chris to do alone, what he didn’t want him to be alone with. How Berlin might happen.

Half an hour later they drifted together in one of the secluded niches between segments planted with reeds and water lilies. Zach swam up behind Chris and wrapped himself around his body. Swimming must have helped him, too; he felt much more relaxed.

“I’ve been thinking,” Zach announced. “And I want us to send some emails and make some phone calls next week already. While we’re here, together.” He let go of Chris’s back so he could move around him and in front of him. “So we’re ready. Or as ready as we’ll ever be.” He smiled wryly. “And when some reporter or pap catches us together in Berlin, our people will have something prepared. Getting caught holding hands may not be as elegant as a casual statement in the _New York_ magazine, but it’s _normal_. Normal for us, at least. And that’s what you, what we both deserve.”

“Okay.” Chris took a deep breath but stayed calm. “We could ...” Another deep breath. “We could start with inviting Karl for dinner. He sent me an email that he’ll be in Christchurch for a few days next week for that charity he’s involved in.” He quirked his lips in a faint, lop-sided smile. “He’ll give me so much shit about this ...”

“ _And_ he’ll have our backs every step of the way,” Zach said. Family was important to Karl; and he’d made it clear that he considered the Trek cast family of sorts. Maybe not on a “Lord of the Rings” level, but definitely more than colleagues and acquaintances.

“Kick our asses, you mean.” Now Chris laughed, a little at least. He put his hands on Zach’s shoulders and let his body float upwards in the water. “Sometimes I still have trouble believing you didn’t kick me out on my ass that very first night.”

Zach thought that this version of Chris might be his favorite yet: wet and vulnerable, spiky hair slicked back, raindrops glittering on his face in a sudden ray of sunshine, his eyes wide and earnest, grey-blue mirrors of the storm clouds up in the sky.

“You wanted me so much,” Zach said and covered Chris’s hands with his. “Needed me so much.” Slowly, Zach stroked Chris’s arms, lingering in appreciation on his pronounced biceps and triceps. Then he gripped Chris’s shoulders and pulled him close, close enough to slide his hands up and down his sides and his back. “You were intense. Irresistible.”

Zach fell silent. But it was still raining, and the silence was filled with soft, reassuring sounds. As if the weather itself wanted to put them at ease. Underwater, he slipped his right hand between Chris’s ass cheeks and nudged his hole. Just enough to get his attention. Chris tilted back his head, and Zach pushed first one, then two fingers in, added pressure. Chris’s eyes drifted shut as he submitted to Zach’s touch, and his lips opened in a desirous _ohh..._ Around them, the rain created a calligraphy of concentric circles on the surface of the water. Beads of water weighed down Chris’s eyelashes. When a droplet trailed down Chris’s cheek, Zach felt compelled to lick it away. As if it was a tear and not merely a drop of rain. Buoyed by the water, his lover swayed against him and sighed.

“Pluvial porn,” Chris murmured and opened his eyes again, sapphire-bright. “Perfection in precipitation.” He grinned at Zach, all mischief now. “Provided you presently pound into me and elicit a climax from me right here in the pool.”

“No more alliterations for you, Christopher,” Zach decided. “Definitely not in public.” He pushed Chris backwards until they reached the edge of the pool. Instead of resisting, Chris wrapped his legs around Zach’s thighs, trapping their cocks between their bodies.

“But we are not in public now, _Zachary_ ,” Chris replied. “And methinks the man maligns my methods too much. Because I perceive _precisely_ how much you appreciate the persuasiveness of my stylistic devices.” With a smirk, he leaned against Zach’s right shoulder and reached around Zach’s back and for his ass.

Chris’s finger was warm, warmer than the water, and insistent. Although Zach was tighter than Chris at this point, it didn’t take long until Chris had worked his finger far enough inside. A quirk, and a sizzling rush of sensation surged through Zach’s body. Without the water to support them, this episode of pluvial porn would have found a very painful end then and there, as Zach stumbled and almost fell. Chris just laughed, holding on for dear life and _not letting up_.

“Damn it, Chris, do you _want_ to drown us?” Zach cursed. Somehow he managed to maneuver them into a corner for additional support. Drowning in the pool of a Hobbit hole while fucking might get them shortlisted for the Darwin Awards 2014, but that was most certainly not on his top ten list of how to go. 

Somehow Chris managed to squeeze his other hand between their bodies. He gripped their dicks, pressing them together, rubbing them, hot and hard in the cool water. Zach instinctively tightened his own hold on Chris again, his hand sliding between Chris’s buttocks once more. When Chris rested his forehead against Zach’s shoulder and began to suck and bite kisses into his skin, Zach gasped. “What are you? A fucking octopus?”

For a moment, Chris looked up and smiled beatifically, his eyes electrified and almost turquoise with lust. “ _Your_ fucking octopus.”

Zach’s ability to form coherent syllables dissolved in the waves Chris created between their bodies as he jerked their cocks with more urgency. Chris panted against his neck, such a passionate sound. Once more it struck Zach just how much Chris wanted him. But before he could process the thought, the familiar pressure of impending orgasm tightened his balls. A moment later, Chris stroked his prostate, with an unrefined but evilly effective twitch of his fingers. Zach exploded in a release that left him floating, weightless in the water. Distantly, Zach felt Chris shudder against him as he reached his climax as well. For a while they just drifted in each other’s arms, limp and – yeah, _in love_. Once again, Zach’s heart thudded awkwardly at the thought. He opened his eyes, blinking away raindrops.

“See? I wouldn’t let you drown,” Chris said, kissed him, and shivered convulsively.

That was Zach’s cue to move the party to the Jacuzzi. After all, he had a bet to win, and Chris was still an orgasm ahead.

♦

“We’re going to turn into prunes,” Chris announced happily.

His ability to think and speak had needed some serious time-out in terms of silently soaking in the hot tub for the better part of an hour. But now he was obviously recovering from their exertions in the pool. Maybe the stimulating effect of the bath salts was finally kicking in. They’d had a choice of a whole range of special Middle-earth themed mixtures. Chris had wanted “Éomer’s Excellent Soak”, presumably to honor his man-crush on Karl, but Zach had vetoed that. And he’d enjoyed that moment of playful jealousy probably more than he ought to – especially when Chris had solemnly sworn to crush only on him from here on out, a vow that had included Chris kneeling down in front of him and actually kissing his balls for some reason. Now they were marinating in “Green Dragon”, a rich, tavern-themed scent. The whirlpool was more than big enough for two, so they could have comfortably stretched out in opposite corners of the tub. But apparently Chris was still channeling his inner octopus. Zach had ended up with a lapful of snuggly Chris. He didn’t mind.

“Very clean prunes,” Zach agreed. By rights he should be beyond temptation by now, but the thought of just _how_ clean they’d both be when they finally made it out of the hot, bubbling water was way too appealing. His cock stirred.

Chris turned and tilted his head to offer him a sly smile. “Clean prunes? Is that something you’re into, Zach? A kink, maybe?”

Zach swatted gently at him. “Crazy boy. But if you must know, yes, I am not averse to the pleasures of anilingus.”

“Is that so?” Chris shimmied in his arms, teasing, taunting. “Because in that case I’ll have to let you in on a secret ...” He lowered his voice seductively. “... neither am I.”

“Oh, the things I learn about you here.” Zach smiled against Chris’s neck. “I already had my suspicions that your proclivities include sexual gratification with stylistic devices. But I have to say, for a mostly straight boy you’re very anally inclined ...”

“Oh, the arrogance.” Chris splashed some water back at Zach and mostly at the wall. “The ass is an erogenous zone for many people, regardless of their gender identity or sexual orientation.”

When Zach submerged his hand to slide a finger up and down his crack, Chris squirmed against his hand. Onomatopoeias of pleasure spilled from his lips, _guh_ and _unf_ and a helpless _hmmm..._

“It’s definitely one of your sweet spots,” Zach murmured. He pulled his hand away from Chris’s ass and curled his arm around his waist, stroking his stomach. Chris was hard again, too. _That’s some spa day today_ , Zach thought. Aloud he said, “And yet – although you have indeed satisfactorily demonstrated your ability to locate not only your own but my prostate without Google maps – you haven’t done much about it in the past. Why is that, I wonder?”

“Dunno.” Chris leaned back against him and pressed Zach’s hand more firmly against his body. Zach had noticed that already about him, how Chris liked being held, tightly, how he even enjoyed being pinned down. When Chris inhaled, Zach could feel how he tensed up. “Okay, no. I do know why. For me, there’s a level of openness, of trust, involved in those acts ... that I’ve simply not experienced very often. With anyone.”

For a second, Zach wanted to react the way he had their very first night together. He wanted to tell Chris off, wanted to snap at Chris that he didn’t have the right to say things like that, never mind the fact that Chris had _every right_ to say that by now, and more. Just Zach’s typical knee-jerk reaction. That part of him that still wanted nothing to do with the responsibility and the risks that came with such trust. (And besides, those acts – they were as natural and normal as any other sexual acts. There should be no more and no less trust involved than in any other form of sexual intimacy.)

But _Chris_. Zach was perfectly aware of at least one time that Chris had this trust broken before. (Never mind which sexts had been nothing but erotic fantasy and which had been edits by the hackers – it had been a hot mess, and _of course_ it hadn’t left Chris unaffected.) Also, Zach would have to be an idiot _and_ an asshole to ignore how, in terms of trust, there was much more at stake for Chris than how he felt about anal sex right now. And Zach was neither. Or at least he liked to think that.

 _Though ..._ Maybe he was at least ignorant. Sure, for him as a gay man who enjoyed anal sex, all of this was normal and no big deal. But Chris was _not_ gay. He was _bisexual_. And he’d lived a mostly straight life so far. Gay sex, anal sex, all of that was still new for Chris. No matter how much he enjoyed it all. Also, if Zach was perfectly honest, maybe he himself had more reasons for topping normally than the fact that he simply preferred that particular physical experience.

And Zach’s instinctive aversion to too much emotional dependency had definitely more to do with his personal history, with his experience of loss and dysfunctional relationships than anything else. Chris had been such a safe object of desire. One hundred percent unavailable. Someone he couldn’t lose because he could never _have_ him in the first place. But now Chris was proving himself to be more open and emotionally available in a fucking _week_ than most of Zach’s previous partners in the entire course of their relationship.

Zach had been silent for much too long now.

“We’re both clean,” Chris said suddenly, with forced brightness. “In every respect.” He shifted against Zach’s cock and hissed sharply at the intimate contact. “So how do you feel about a round _‘au naturel’_?”

“Fuck, Chris,” Zach groaned. “You can’t _say_ things like that.” His cock, the traitor, ignored him and surged upward eagerly as Chris squirmed in his lap.

“Oh, but I can. And I want to.” Chris reached for Zach’s dick. With a few torturous twists of his wrist he teased Zach to full hardness. Then he positioned himself before Zach managed to round up enough brain cells for a protest. Then Chris pushed down, sinking down on Zach, slick and hot and tight, and when Chris clenched around his cock, Zach couldn’t remember how to spell “coherent” much less come up with anything the resembled such a reply.

♦

Later, after a long, tenderly entangled nap, they lay naked on the bed, Chris on his stomach, Zach on his side next to him. Zach was leisurely stroking Chris’s ass. He wasn’t sure if he was up to another orgasm, or even just to getting up and staggering to the kitchen for dinner. Also, he hadn’t forgotten their conversation in the whirlpool. But he had no idea how to get back on topic.

“How about it,” he said softly, pressing his lips against Chris’s tailbone, “you come a fifth time and I buy dinner tomorrow?” 

Chris groaned. “Next time I _come up_ with a megalomaniac notion like that bet today, kindly remind me that I’m not twenty anymore. Or just kill me right away.”

“Never.” Zach snuggled closer to Chris, memorizing hard muscles and warm skin with his hands and his whole body. “I like you just the way you are. All good and crazy and thirty-three.”

He kept caressing Chris, trailing gentle fingertips across and around his hole, teasing the tender skin. Chris fidgeted under his ministrations and couldn’t contain sounds of helpless delight. Zach didn’t mind the messiness of sex, even reveled in it. But this was nice, too. Chris’s body positively glowed, pink and soft and so clean. And to have Chris spread out like that under him, so open to him ... Zach rolled onto his knees and pressed his lips against the pucker of Chris’s asshole. His cock stirred with an almost painful effort. But the gargled groan Chris tried to muffle in the pillow was too sweet to resist.

“Like that, do you?” Zach inhaled Chris’s scent, warm with the whiskey and tobacco aroma of the bath salts that still clung to his skin. He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead he nuzzled the soft skin behind Chris’s balls and started licking upwards, in quick, strong licks, like a cat that meant business. He slowed down when reached Chris’s entrance, circling the rim with slow, firm pressure. Chris shuddered and cried out, a helpless, incomprehensible noise, and easily one of the sexiest sounds Zach had heard in his life.

“You’re killing me,” Chris moaned. “I can’t – I _really_ can’t – OH GOD—”

“Oh, I think you can, Christopher. I think you will. And you will start with lying still.” Zach rested his right forearm across the small of Chris’s back, just above his ass, to emphasize his order. “Very still. Do not move.”

_“Unf.”_

To discover a lover’s body with his mouth – licking, sucking, kissing, and yes, _biting_ – what could be more delicious, more erotic? _Not much_ , Zach thought as he lowered his head again. He actually bit into Chris’s left buttock this time, and he bit down _hard_ , hard enough that Chris cried out. Smiling, Zach soothed the bite with gentle flicks of his tongue. Then he spread Chris’s cheeks and licked down deeper.

He teased Chris with tender circles before he pressed inside. Soft, slick, tight, hot – the holy litany of clichés, and they were all true. Sensitive skin pulsed under the touch of his tongue, and the intimate vulnerability of the act took his breath away. The sensations were almost too intense; Zach felt hollow, ready to float away. He didn’t know anymore if he was holding Chris down or if he was clinging to Chris so _he_ wouldn’t drift away. He concentrated on the rhythm until he grew aware of an echo – soft huffs in sync with his thrusts. Tenderly, Zach trailed his fingers down Chris’s taint to his balls. He cupped Chris with his left hand, very gently, just to feel how close Chris was. _Very close._

Somewhat to his surprise Zach realized that he was getting there again, too. But after spending the better part of the day having sex, he was hypersensitive. Pain and pleasure were almost indistinguishable. Yet he didn’t mind. Inspired, he slipped his middle finger inside, underneath his tongue, so he could reach Chris’s prostate. At the same time he sucked hard and squeezed Chris’s balls with just enough pressure. He would have laughed at Chris’s scream and how Chris writhed under his mouth, but Zach couldn’t stand the tension anymore. He collapsed on his back and gripped his own cock, jerking once, twice, and then he came again, the fourth time that day, an awkward, almost grueling orgasm.

Afterwards, every movement was an ordeal. But somehow, they managed to curl up into each other’s arms, and Zach, after a full day’s fucking, didn’t think of sex but of love. For the second time in a week, Zach wanted ... well, not _now_ – he couldn’t move now, definitely not, or the next eight to ten hours – at the very least – but at some point in the not too distant future, he wanted to offer Chris the same kind of trust – the same kind of lust, too – that he’d given Zach so freely since their first crazy night together.

“Chris?” Zach whispered.

“Hmm?” Chris didn’t even open his eyes.

“One of these days,” Zach said slowly, hyperaware of his heartbeat, a strange and heavy rhythm that was palpable in his whole body, “when we can move again, and when the idea of another orgasm is actually appealing again ... I do want _you_ to fuck _me_.”

Chris jerked his eyes open and stared at him. In the fading light, his eyes were almost surreal in their blue brightness. “You trust me that much?”

“Yes.” Zach wanted to add something, wanted to apologize for his silence in the Jacuzzi. But he didn’t have enough brain left for explanations or further declarations of love. While he was still fumbling to find the words he wanted, he fell asleep.

♦

Two days later, Zach watched with bemusement how Chris turned into iron – no, into _frantic_ chef. It was one of those things he’d never noticed about Chris before, in spite of being friends for seven years and spending so much time practically living together, on set and during junkets. One of those small things about Chris that struck him quite out of the blue this week, that made his heart beat faster and his stomach tighten. _Chris._ How could there be so much he didn’t know about Chris, so many details he’d never appreciated before? Like how fucking adorable he was in an apron, cooking up a storm for Karl. Also, either Chris’s dietician had successfully brainwashed him at long last, or he was more of a foodie than Zach had realized so far.

“Chris, if there are two salads to go with those steaks, I think we can risk baked potatoes. Karl won’t mind a few carbs.” And what the hell was Chris doing with a bowl full of _flowers_ over there? Zach abandoned the cucumbers he’d been dicing and went to investigate.

Chris frowned and nervously licked his lips. Rubbing his neck, he nodded. “You’re right, of course. There should be baked potatoes.” He turned around and pulled a pot out of the cabinet. Then he hesitated. “I like them kind of soft, so I cook them before I bake them. Do you think that’s okay for Karl? And—” Chris froze and swallowed hard. “Damn. I don’t even know how _you_ like your potatoes.”

Zach took the pot out of Chris’s hands and put it on the counter. “I’m fine with mushy potatoes. And with firm potatoes. And with _no_ potatoes.” He wrapped his arms around Chris, apron and all. “What do you think will happen, Chris? It’s just Karl.”

Chris shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t even know, man. It’s ...”

 _“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”_ He kissed Chris, firmly on the lips. “There’s no correct way to do this.”

“At least there’s a correct way to cook steaks.” Chris sighed. “Or at least the _perfect_ way according to Gordon Ramsay.”

Zach was not about to argue steaks with Chris; he’d done so before and lost. Well, he didn’t have to be right all the time, and Chris really did make fantastic steaks. So he poked at the flowers floating in a large bowl of water mixed with vinegar instead. “What are those for? Some kind of hippie decoration thing?”

“Nope. Salad. Just want to get the bugs out of the blossoms for now.”

“What?!”

“Tropaeolum, commonly known as nasturtium. The crimson stuff out front. Looks nice, tastes even nicer. Spicy. Salad.” Chris went back to staring at three giant potatoes as if the solution to all of his problems was hidden under their barely freckled skin. The potatoes were so fresh that they were smooth like satin and clean as if the farmer at the market had polished them by hand. They didn’t seem particularly concerned by Chris’s worries.

“It’s gonna be okay, Chris.”

♦

The resounding knock was followed by an irritated holler. “Seriously, Pine, you really went and rented a _Hobbit hole_? You’re crazy!”

Next to Zach, Chris froze. And Zach felt it, too – that moment of no return. For a fraction of a second he thought of offering to hide in the bedroom until Karl left. Or punching Karl unconscious before he could recognize him? Or pretending he’d just dropped by, unannounced. But _Chris_ , with his list of phone calls and emails (parents, sister; a few friends; agent, publicist) for the next day painstakingly written down in his new notebook— Zach swallowed hard and thought of his own list. Focused. On his breathing, on his center. On _Chris_.

Chris opened the door. “Hey, man.” He took a step backwards and rubbed his neck. Inhaled a shaky breath before he added: “And I guess you’re right. I must be crazy. At least that’s exactly what Zach keeps saying.”

For a split-second Zach was torn between sympathy and amusement. _Oh Chris._ And poor Karl, inadvertently cast in the role of absent parental figures. (Better Karl than Paramount, though, Zach thought.) And then, for a fraction of a heartbeat, Zach felt a flash of fear, too. Because this – _Chris_ – could never be just another one of his half-assed attempts at a relationship. He took Chris’s hand and entwined their fingers. “Because it’s true. You _are_ crazy.”

Karl dumped his duffel bag and frowned. Apart from that, he showed no particular reaction. There was no step back, no double-take, no expression of shock or even surprise. He just stood there and studied the two of them, took in their linked hands, and frowned his trademark frown, annoyed and amused in equal parts. A moment later, he shook his head.

“Sorry, Chris,” Karl said with fake contrition. “I take that back. And Zach, you’re wrong. You’re _both_ crazy. Goddamn fucking crazy. Also, I should have trusted my gut instinct. Why did I agree to call off the betting pool after the last junket? I could be a very rich man right now. Damn you both and your atrocious timing, you morons. I hope there’s steak and beer, at least.”

“Of course,” Chris said as he led the way to the kitchen and the terrace. “Beer, blood orange martini, or apple pie sangria. Wine. White or red. And water, of course.”

“Pine, I’m not a _girl_. Give me a damn beer.”

Chris picked a martini, of course, and Zach (because a) there was nothing wrong with girly drinks, and b) he happened to like apple pie in any form) opted for the sangria. When Karl stepped out onto the terrace to admire the pool, Zach hung back and used the opportunity to pull Chris into a tight hug. Every muscle in Chris’s back was in solid knots with tension. But when Zach kissed him, Chris was already smiling.

“Is that what relief tastes like?” Zach whispered. “Like blood orange martini and your smile?”

Chris shrugged, but his eyes were cerulean bright.

Then it was time for a guided tour of the Hobbit hole. Some details caused exasperation. (“A sauna? Of course. It’s not enough for Pine to play Hobbit. No, Quinto here needs to live out a Lord of the Rings/ _So NoTORIous crossover_. Why am I not surprised?”) Others – the kitchen, the fireplaces, and the Rohan guestroom where Karl would stay for the night – were deemed acceptable. (“Oh man, that brings back memories. Good times, good times. You do realize that now I have to bore you with completely inappropriate stories about the ‘Lord of the Rings’ cast all night, don’t you?”)

Since the weather had turned nice again, they ate dinner on the terrace. Over Chris’s grilled marinated Portobello mushrooms, conversation turned to work. Chris was in two minds about “Z for Zachariah” – he’d had fun filming but to play a part that didn’t exist in the novel didn’t sit well with him. Zach was more excited about Berlin than about the movie he was doing there. And while Karl had enjoyed working on “Almost Human”, he wasn’t overly optimistic about the show’s endurance. (“If they start with airing a show in the wrong order, that already tells you something. Oh well; I’ll enjoy it as long as it lasts.”) The perfectly seared steak with soft, butter drenched baked potatoes garnered Karl’s approval, but the salads elicited vicious amusement. (“Flowers? Pine, you want me to eat _flowers_? Oh, Princess, why did anyone ever doubt your romantic destiny?”)

When it grew chilly out on the terrace after dinner, they went back inside. Chris lit a fire in the living room and got another three bottles of beer from the fridge. Karl was sprawling in an armchair, while Zach had usurped a corner of one of the comfortable sofas. After Chris had handed Karl his beer, he hesitated. Before Zach had a chance to say something, Karl rolled his eyes and shooed Chris with an impatient gesture over to the couch. “It’s not as if I haven’t seen you in Zach’s lap before. If you start making out, I’ll go to bed. And if you subject me to any horrible noises tonight, I swear you will live to regret it. But I promise I can handle the two of you on one and the same sofa.”

How Chris blushed, all over his face and even down his neck, would never fail to amuse Zach. But when Chris slumped down at his side, so obviously drained, he remembered that for Chris tonight meant much more than dinner with an old friend.

“C’mere,” Zach murmured. “Curl up.”

That Chris obeyed without a word or a wisecrack, simply toeing off his shoes and pulling up his legs until he sat leaning against Zach, was telling, too. From his armchair, Karl was watching them with quiet amusement. “So, that.” Karl gestured at them with his bottle. “The two of you. Top secret, or can I say that I know what Zachary Quinto did during his summer vacation when the next reporter nags me?”

Now it was Zach’s turn to flush. “Shit, sorry about that. I honestly didn’t think they’d get back to you about that.”

“No big deal,” Karl said with a shrug and took a swallow of beer. “I don’t mind covering up for you guys. But a warning would have been nice.”

Chris rubbed his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled, too, although he’d had nothing to do with Zach’s little white lie about his vacation. “It’s kinda new, and ...”

“... it’s going to be a circus when it gets out.” Zach put his arm around Chris. “We needed some time to figure things out before telling anyone.”

“And we kind of considered trying to keep it private,” Chris said and sighed. “But apparently I’m a terrible actor, and so ...” He waved his hand.

Karl snorted. “You’re not, and you know that. Kindly quit fishing for compliments, Pine. But I agree. I have seen teenaged girls who are less obvious concerning the object of their affections. Nothing wrong with that, mind you. But I can see how that’s awkward when paps and fans are out to get you. So how are you going to handle that?”

Zach drained his beer and put the empty bottle on the coffee table. “Well, obviously we’re in the process of telling friends and family,” he said and nodded at Karl. “As well as publicists and agents. And we want to get it out of the way before Trek starts.” Noticing how Chris tensed again, Zach rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. “Chris is going to come to Berlin at some point. So our best guess is that it will happen then.”

“Paramount will be pissed.” Then Karl grinned, dark eyes sparkling with wicked mirth. “Or worse, they’ll decide to make the most of it and put it in the script. And Trek fandom – the fans will worship you. The romance!” he exclaimed with a sweeping gesture, clutching at his heart. “Decades of slashy dreams coming true at long last.”

Chris and Zach groaned in unison. “There is no escape,” Chris muttered darkly. “Trekkies, trekkies everywhere. Tomorrow my mother will tell me that she ships us, too.”

Zach pressed a quick kiss against Chris’s temple. “I’m sure she will,” he said softly. He kept his arm around Chris’s back, rubbing his shoulder with his left hand. Then he turned back to Karl. “Concerning fans,” Zach said. “We kind of owe them for this. Because that’s how it all started. With a fan. At the Ryan premiere, in London. Chris stole a notebook from a fan.”

“By mistake,” Chris protested. “I didn’t steal it on purpose!”

“How can you steal something by mistake?” Karl asked, an exact echo of Zach’s first question about the notebook.

“Well.” Chris smiled. He reached up and squeezed Zach’s hand before he launched into telling their story for the first time. “It happened like this ...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  venn i'm with you.
> 
> (Another hipster Instagram the adoring audience couldn't quite make heads or tails of when ZQ posted it ...)
> 
> (Unnecessary disclaimer: the Instagram is fake, nothing but fantasy, and just an illustration for this story.)
> 
> **Author’s Notes:**
> 
> Many thanks to rabidchild67 for the idea of blood orange martinis.


	6. There And Back Again (With The Bravest Princess Of Them All)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ## There And Back Again (With The Bravest Princess Of Them All)

Suddenly Zach’s vacation was almost over. The next day was his last day in New Zealand, and because they both knew that there was no living with Zach the evening before a trip – his mind would be on packing and planes, already flying ahead to his destination – they were having their farewell party for two tonight.

For that purpose they had pushed the banquet table in the dining room back against the windows. On the table they had laid out a Hobbit feast of comfort food – Chris had cooked a mellow black lentils _dal_ for Zach, and they had stocked up on savory and sweet pies, salads, and artisanal cheeses at the farmers’ market again. Apart from that, they had splurged on the wine and bought a few bottles of 2009 Mills Reef “Elspeth” Cabernet Merlot. And last but not least, Chris had somehow acquired the ingredients for a couple of joints on the set of Z4Z.

Next they had dragged over the mattress from the nearest guest bedroom. They had changed into PJs and built a blanket fort in the middle of the dining room with no less than four duvets and all the pillows and cushions they could find. Then they lit the candle parade on the sideboard. And finally, after Zach had solemnly promised to protect Chris from all monsters that might be lurking in the corners, they had switched on the chandelier to turn the room into a shadow forest.

Now Chris gazed earnestly at the haphazardly rolled cigarette in his hand and exhaled a breath of sweet smoke in a blissful sigh. “That stuff is so good, man, organic and all. It’s basically health food. Well, not food. But definitely healthy.”

“I’m afraid there are still antediluvian people out there, like politicians and policemen for example, who do not share your very enlightened attitude.” Zach plucked the spliff from Chris’s hand and inhaled. _“Hmm.”_ Critically, he studied the joint. He hadn’t smoked in a while and wasn’t quite satisfied with the flare of the paper for purely aesthetic reasons. He exhaled and let the pungent scent of weed drift up to his nose. Dope and lentils and Chris. Comfort food for his soul. He returned the joint to Chris, thinking, _I’ll miss you_.

With that thought, a strange heaviness settled over him. For years he’d carefully policed his heart where Chris was concerned, never allowing himself to actively miss Chris. Because while they’d been friends, very good friends even, they’d never been _that kind_ of friends. They’d been friends with mutual friends. Friends who’d run into each other at dinner parties of other friends. Colleagues who traveled in similar circles. Who would occasionally make plans _as friends_ when they happened to be in the same city. That would change now. A bittersweet ache unfurled inside of him. Now Zach could – would – miss Chris. Would miss him as a friend, would miss him as a lover.

Chris collapsed back into the mountains of pillows heaped up around the mattress. Draping his legs across Zach’s lap, he held the joint high above his head and stretched the tension out of his body before taking a drag again. Zach leaned over and kissed the cloying smoke from Chris’s lips. He rested his left hand on Chris’s stomach and rubbed his palm in small, soothing circles before he stole back the cigarette for another toke. “How are you, Chris?”

The last few days blurred together in Zach’s mind. Family and friends, publicists and agents. Phone calls, video conferences, and emails. Days consumed by debates. Nights interrupted by arguments, thanks to the time difference. Still, all in all, Zach guessed things had gone ... well. Sort of. Mostly. Could have gone worse, definitely. However, Zach had also very clearly underestimated the situation. But his experience had been so different, more like a gradual process of self-realization. Not a major personal and professional crisis that required statements and strategies and contingency plans. And that was just show business as usual. Zach knew that.

One thing was certain: Zach’s attitude toward emails was much more favorable now than it had been a week ago. E-mails, there was no awkward moment of silence in e-mails. No shocked “oh”. And e-mails didn’t say things like “But I thought he’s straight?” or “But you’re not gay.” Chris hadn’t been sleeping well. (Not that Zach blamed him.) And Zach couldn’t help worrying about him. He really didn’t want to leave Chris alone at the moment. But there was nothing to be done. Zach had to go back to Berlin and to “Agent 47”. And Chris ... Well, the soft huff of pleasure that spilled from Chris’s lips now was reassuring, at least.

“What’s with you and my tummy?” Slightly cross-eyed with relaxation, Chris squinted up at Zach. “You keep touching it.”

Zach shrugged, a quick jerk of shoulders and eyebrows, somewhat abashed at being caught red-handed like that. “I just ... like it. It’s cute.”

(Especially that ludicrous belly button. Deep-set, slightly skewed and a little slanted. Quirky, just like its owner. _An almost-outie_ , Zach thought. _How apropos._ )

“Cute?! That’s ... My tummy – my _stomach_ is not cute. My stomach is a six-pack of utterly ribbed abdominal awesomeness!” Chris tried to muster an appropriate measure of exasperation and failed, giggling instead and arching into Zach’s touch.

“Oh, yes. Very cute,” Zach insisted, adding another careful circle to his caresses. “And are you developing a hernia there, or what?”

 _“Nrgh.”_ Chris squirmed under his fingertips. “Stop insulting my stomach. But if you must know, yes. Or that’s the official diagnosis, at least. It’s from all the heavy lifting in that one scene of Zachariah. Supposedly it will go away again on its own. If not, surgery’s

no big deal for stuff like that. Breaking my finger for Ryan was way worse.”

“Poor baby,” Zach murmured and pressed soft, soothing kisses on Chris’s belly, before he captured Chris’s hand. “This one?”

“How do you know that?!” Chris complained. “ _I_ can’t see a difference!” When Zach proceeded not just to kiss the finger but to suck on it, Chris laughed and put the spliff in Zach’s hand. “Oral fixation much? Here, suck on this instead.”

Zach obeyed, somewhat reluctantly. It _was_ good stuff. But frankly, Chris tasted better. He didn’t mind letting Chris reclaim the joint. Chris dragged on the cigarette. When the inhalation filled his cheeks, he offered his mouth to Zach again.

To see Chris like that, to feel Chris like that, curled around him and cuddly, still made Zach’s heart beat faster and his stomach flutter. Again he pressed their lips together and sucked in a sweetly scented second-hand hit. Drawing back, Zach traced Chris’s lush lips with a tender touch. _I don’t want to leave you here on your own_ , Zach thought, _I don’t want you to be alone. Not right now._ Maybe he could recruit Karl to keep an eye on Chris for the rest of his vacation – Chris wasn’t due to return to L.A. for a while yet. “So, how are you?” He knew Chris far too well to let himself be distracted with just a little flirting.

Apparently Chris realized that, too. He pushed himself upright again and handed Zach the joint. Scooting around, he sat down in front of Zach, who folded himself obligingly into a cross-legged position as well. The cigarette was passed back and forth a few more times, before Chris stubbed it out in the ashtray. Then he rested his hands palm upwards on Zach’s legs and didn’t resist when Zach entwined their fingers. For while they sat like that in silence, drifting in a comforting haze of relaxation.

“I’m okay, I guess,” Chris answered Zach’s question at last. “It was not such a big deal, after all.”

“Your mother was cool.” Zach smiled. Most of all, Chris’s mother had been less than surprised.

♦

They’d done a Skype call with Chris’s family, because Zach had insisted that some things shouldn’t be done via email, and if you couldn’t actually beam over, a Skype call was the next best thing. Once they were face to face with Chris’s parents, Chris had blushed fire-engine red and started stuttering while holding Zach’s hand. After the most excruciatingly embarrassing seconds of Zach’s entire life, Chris’s mother had thankfully shushed her son. “Chris, it’s all right. I _know_.”

Which was, interestingly enough, the reaction Zach had fully expected from his own mother twelve years ago. Only _she_ hadn’t reacted like that.

“What?” Chris croaked.

“Don’t you remember Paul and Lauren?” Chris’s mother asked.

When Chris just stared at her blankly, she laughed. “Well, I guess that’s the kind of conversation a mother never forgets ...” Gwynne smiled at both of them. “You were eleven, I think. After long and painful negotiations you told me that you were ready to send your first serious Valentine to Lauren – Zach, I don’t know what Valentine’s Day was like in your family, but for my children that holiday was always an ordeal. International peace treaties have been signed with less drama. So I was very relieved that Chris had managed to work things out with Lauren. However, the very next day my sweet son cornered me in the kitchen and asked me if it was okay for him to send _Paul_ a Valentine’s card, too.”

Zach couldn’t keep a straight face. Raising his eyebrows, he turned to Chris. “Paul?”

If he’d thought that Chris’s face couldn’t possibly get any redder, he’d been mistaken. Chris hid his face in his hands. “My best friend. I ... I kind of possibly had a crush on him.”

“Based on your question and the way you blushed I surmised as much even then,” Gwynne agreed. Shaking her head in a bemused fashion, she went on, “I’m afraid that was not my best moment as a mother and a therapist. It went something like this: I told Chris that if he feels for Paul what he feels for Lauren, then of course sending Paul a Valentine’s card is okay. But I also warned him that Paul may not feel the same, and that _Lauren_ might not want to share. And I told him that some people are okay with sharing, and some are not. The idea of sharing intrigued Chris so much that he forgot all about Paul _and_ Lauren. I then spent an incredibly awkward afternoon explaining the concept of polyamorous relationships in age-appropriate ways.”

Chris groaned into his palms. “I’m grateful I have forgotten all about that. But that still doesn’t explain why you ...” He finally dropped his hands and made a vague gesture that might have indicated Zach.

“Well, dear,” Gwynne said, “you never brought that topic up again, although I always expected you to. But even so, I didn’t miss how you talked about some men over the years.” She smiled at them both. “I tried to respect your reticence, Chris, but mothers can’t help noticing some things. Can’t help _worrying_. And of course there’s the fact that Chris has mentioned you, Zach, far more frequently than any of the women he dated in recent years. Since the first movie it’s been always ‘but Zach said’ or “but Zach did’ and so on.”

For some reason that had made Zach’s cheeks flush with heat. But with that, the awkward part of the video call had been over, and the conversation had turned to practical matters. Chris’s parents had both agreed that it was strategically smarter to acknowledge their relationship from the start. His father had been more concerned than his mother, which was not unexpected. But he’d been no less supportive.

“You’re both mature adults – well, most of the time ...” Robert Pine had winked at them. But when he continued, he was absolutely serious again. “And you’ve both been successful in the business for years now. You know exactly how difficult this will be, so I’m not going to start making any lists for you. If you want this relationship, you’ll deal with whatever obstacles arise.”

♦

Now Chris blinked like a sleepy owl, obviously coming back to the present with an effort. “Yeah,” he agreed. “My mom _is_ cool.” He shook his head and frowned, awkwardly wrinkling his forehead. “I swear I had totally forgotten that thing with Lauren and Paul. I can’t even remember whom I ended up giving a card. Paul, I think. Or maybe both of them? I don’t know. As I said ... once I knew that it – that _I_ was okay no matter what, I didn’t give it much thought until much later.”

They had Skyped Katie, too. As well as Zach’s mother and Joe. Katie had been more worried about Chris than his parents – she was more aware of how Chris suffered with the regular attenion of paparazzi and online gossip. To make up for her less than enthusiastic initial reaction, she’d sent them an email with a long list of absolutely bizarre coming out suggestions the very next day, though (including a love-in on the Ku’Damm in Berlin – “You might as well milk it for all it is worth, guys.”). Joe’s response had been somewhat unexpected mostly because it had been more or less identical repetition of Karl’s “Why the fuck did I agree to end the betting pool last year?” However, they _did_ find out that a thank-you gift for Zoe was in order for that, so Zach was fine with how that went down. Out of all family members, Zach’s mother had turned out to be the most skeptical. Not because she didn’t approve of Chris, though, or because she didn’t support Zach. She knew Chris and liked him. The problem was that she was _worried_ about Chris. Worried enough to call Zach privately the following day just to tell him to watch out for “his boy”. And that? That was new and unexpected behavior, and Zach didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“I’m grateful we did it together, though,” Chris admitted after a long moment of staring at their intertwined fingers. “Especially the business part.”

So was Zach. They’d opted for emails first and conference calls via Skype as a follow-up. Zach’s people had been professional and helpful – used to dealing with the publicity side of his relationships as a gay man. Chris’s handlers had been significantly less supportive. Zach hadn’t liked some of the body language going on – on either side of the screen. More than ever he was grateful that he’d been able to make his decision on his own, in his own time. Without prophecies of gloom and doom and barely concealed expressions of fucking _disbelief_. Zach had fully expected Chris to fly off the handle and explode into some faces. But he hadn’t. He’d smiled, a painful effort of a smile, and he’d explained, and he’d smiled some more.

There were moments when all of that scared Zach. What Chris had done for him this week. For _them_. Because this was not a media circus beyond their control. They didn’t have their backs against the wall right now. The situation couldn’t be conveniently interpreted as “us against them (and the rest of the world)”. Chris – no, _they_ – had very deliberately chosen to have the difficult conversations of the past few days. With people they’d both been working with for years. With people they trusted. With close friends and family members. At least _those_ awkward moments had been due to honest surprise and not to prejudice, as far as Zach could tell. (And seriously, if someone had presented their relationship to Zach on New Year’s Eve as a possible scenario for his not so distant future, _awkward_ wouldn’t have begun to describe _his_ reaction.)

Still, the past few days had left both of them feeling kind of raw, and Chris definitely troubled. Presenting a unified front had helped, though. And the strategy was clear now. Family and close friends knew what was up. Publicists and agents et cetera had been informed. A plan had been devised. Statements would be drafted that Zach and Chris would approve. Then whatever happened in Berlin would happen in Berlin. And that would be that.

“It’s gonna be okay, Chris,” Zach said and squeezed Chris’s hands. Never mind that he wasn’t in the position to make any such promises. Never mind that the practical problems of their relationship waiting for them in May, in Berlin, did seem significantly more challenging than just a few days ago. But before Zach could add anything more useful or insightful, his stomach rumbled noisily, the effect of the joint kicking in with a vengeance.

Chris laughed and got up to fill two bowls with black lentils _dal_ , while Zach dealt with the wine. A few minutes later, they sat in the middle of their blanket fort with a tray between them, eating lentils and drinking wine and smiling foolishly at one another.

“This,” Zach said after a few spoonfuls, closing his eyes to revel in the taste of the _dal_ , “is really good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, damn it.” But Zach could hear Chris’s smile, so he didn’t bother opening his eyes and concentrated on the rich aroma of the spices and the soothing texture of the lentils.

“You need really good spices,” Chris explained. “And fresh ghee. You can mix butter and oil, but real ghee is much better. The wine is perfect with it, by the way.”

At the pointed reminder (Zach had insisted on buying this particular vintage) Zach picked up his glass from the tray. Chris was right. The wine was full of Zen, a balance that rivalled the mellow flavors of the _dal_. “Okay, fine, let’s play Bottle Shock,” Zach said. He inhaled the bouquet, then swirled a swallow around in his mouth. “Black fruit,” he started importantly. “Berries.”

Chris just snorted. “Like every other Cabernet or Merlot you’ve ever had. But do go on.”

Zach gestured expansively but took his time to savor another swallow. “Licorice and leather,” he ventured at last. Tannins were a safe bet. Licorice not so much, since he wasn’t a fan of the sweet as such, but there was that metallic pang at the back of his mouth. Worth a shot, anyway.

“Yes!” Chris beamed at him. “But you’re missing what makes it perfect. I’d say try again, but you’re never going to figure it out. It’s sandalwood. That pungent woodsy note that fits perfectly with the Indian spices and the oily richness of the ghee. It’s sandalwood. Angels _weep_ for a dinner combo like this.” He nodded sagely.

“Chris, you’re crazy,” Zach murmured. He took the nearly empty wine glass from Chris’s hand and drained it. Then he put the glass on the tray along with the plates and his own empty glass. Carefully, he rose to his feet and climbed across the duvet walls and pillow turrets of their blanket fort to put the tray safely on the dining table in front of the windows.

When Zach turned around, his breath caught in his throat. The scene in front of him reminded him of a fairy tale. Red riding hood lost in the forest, perhaps? But a very adult, alternative version of the story. Perhaps even a dirty, depraved take on it.

Sprawled on his back, Chris lay in a nest of blankets and cushions. The scary chandelier painted roots and branches across his body in sinuous lines. Chris was barefoot, of course, and his cuffed pajama pants exposed his delicate ankles. The tight pajama top left almost nothing to imagination; especially since Chris had nearly unbuttoned it. Zach caught a glimpse of Chris’s infuriating belly button and could almost make out the outline of a pert nipple through the thin fabric.

“Christopher.”

With a slow, languid movement, Chris pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at Zach, dopey and placid. Zach swallowed hard and quickly discarded his own pajama top. The pants he kept on for the time being. A little fabric could go a long way to facilitate some restraint.

“I think you need to undress now.”

Obediently, Chris sat up, rose to his knees, stood. Without a word, he slowly unbuttoned the rest of his top and dropped it at his feet.

“I’m afraid there’s no sexy way to get out of PJ pants,” Chris said in a low voice. “Just focus on my right hand.”

He raised his fingers to the hollow at the base of his throat. Then he stroked down his body, lingering for just a moment over his belly button before moving his hand underneath his pants, palming his already semi-hard cock and drawing the fabric away from his body. With his left hand, he reached for small of his back and pushed down the waistband, over the delicious curves of his buttocks, down his muscular thighs and slender calves.

When Zach had almost forgotten how to breathe, the pants pooled at Chris’s feet. He took a step backward and toed them aside. Standing naked and aroused in front of Zach, Chris spread his arms and bowed. On his lightly tanned skin the shadows cast by the chandelier came alive, writhing with every breath he took. Chris shivered. _Not scared of the Shadow anymore_ , Zach thought. _Thrilled. And fucking beautiful._

“Welcome to Mirkwood,” Chris whispered.

He slid his hand down to cradle his balls, cupping them gently to display their fullness to Zach. When Zach gulped, Chris curled his hand around his dick and jacked himself in slow motion. Zach watched, breathless, how Chris filled out and flushed with arousal in front of his eyes. Holding Zach’s gaze, Chris changed his grip around his cock. He pressed his fingertips on the prominent vein on the underside just beneath the head, hooking his thumb around the other side. His expression turned into a wicked smirk as he delicately stuck out his little finger and proceeded to tease himself with infuriating, infinitesimal strokes.

“That’s quite enough,” Zach managed. And it was. Pure torture. Unadulterated agony. Not to be tolerated a moment longer. To hell with restraint. He yanked down his PJ bottoms. For one crazy second he contemplated tackling Chris to the ground on the spot (blanket forts must be good for something). But reason, or at least his desire for a more erotic approach prevailed in the end – barely.

Zach climbed across the mounds of duvets and pillows to stand in front of Chris. The taste of liquid sandalwood lingered on his tongue, and every breath still carried a sweet, pungent scent. Intoxication halted the inexorable march of days, now mere hours, minutes, toward the end of their vacation. Golden light and warm darkness wrapped them into a _chiaroscuro_ cocoon as Zach traced the wavering patterns of candlelight and forest-shaped shadows across Chris’s skin.

“You look like your haiku,” Zach said. “All aglow.”

“Then touch me,” Chris asked. “And fuck me. Hot and slow.”

“I was,” Zach said slowly, “going to ask _you_ to fuck _me_. Turnabout is fair play, after all. But now ...” He put his arms around Chris and pulled him into his embrace, until their bodies were close enough to rub their cocks together. “Now I just want ...” He kissed Chris’s mouth, his jaw, down his throat, the juncture of neck and shoulder, biting, sucking, soothing, and kissing again. “Now I just want you.”

Chris pressed himself against Zach’s stomach, striving for more friction. He lifted his hands to Zach’s shoulders, trailed his fingers down to his nipples and flicked them, hard enough for Zach to simultaneously draw back with his upper body and push against Chris with his cock. Breathing hard, they held each other close, on the verge between foreplay and sex.

“That’s okay with me,” Chris said earnestly. “I mean, if you really want me to, I’ll do it, of course. But I ... I like _this_. You fucking me. _Bottoming_.” The emphasis – as if it was a word in a foreign language – reminded Zach once again of how new all of this still was for Chris. Sometimes that was hard to remember. But they had only spent two weeks together here. Not a very long vacation at all. “Because, the fucking, I’ve done that,” Chris went on. When Zach arched his eyebrows, Chris stuck out his tongue at him. “ _That way_ , I mean. Not often, but a few times. Some women like that, too, you know. And it’s good, sure. But to,” Chris swallowed hard, “to feel you like that ... It’s different.” _Better_ , his eyes seemed to say, pupils blown so wide that only a rim of color remained, a mere spark of cerulean blue. Chris licked his lips. “I can be soft with you.”

And that – Zach had no idea how to react to that. He felt dizzy, light-headed. With lust, and yeah, with love. Seven years of friendship, and now, after seven weeks – this. _This._ All of this: Vacations and wordplay. Cooking and kissing. Notebooks. Blood orange martini. Porn in the pool. Lewd haiku. And _Chris_ ...

Chris took his hands and let himself sink down into their blanket fort, drawing Zach down with him, until Zach was lying on top of him. Then he reached out and poked around under the closest pillow with his right hand. A moment later he grinned and happily clutched a half-empty bottle of lube. “Look what I found.” Pushing against Zach’s chest, he murmured. “Rise and shine, babe.”

Zach got to his knees. Promptly, Chris sat up, too. He poured a generous amount of lube on his hands and proceeded to slick up Zach’s cock, smiling at each soft, squishy sound. When he was satisfied with his work, he grabbed a pillow to shove under his ass and lay back, spreading his legs. Without a word, Zach sank into Chris. Time slowed down and dissolved, the way it sometimes did when he’d smoked. He rocked into the tightness of Chris’s body, hot and slow indeed, and imagined he could stay like this forever, caught up in the rhythm of thrusting and kissing, with Chris sighing against him and pulsing around him. As if they had never known other bodies, had never belonged to other lovers. As if they had always been at home in each other.

Orgasm washed over them almost unforeseen, in an incredibly gentle release. Afterwards they did not move for a long while. Normally Zach was the type to push in slowly and pull out quickly, careful with his partner’s and his own post-climactic sensitivity. But as Chris clung to him tonight in the aftermath, Zach did not mind to let himself soften inside his lover’s body for once. But he still couldn’t say it. Couldn’t bring himself to speak. Could only think “I’ll miss you”. Could only hope that it wouldn’t be too much. Could only kiss Chris again, without words, in silence.

♦

A few hours later, Zach sat propped up against solid stacks of pillows and cushions while Chris leaned back against him and submitted good-naturedly to more tummy rubbing. They were passing another cigarette of tobacco mixed with marijuana back and forth between them, and they had opened a second bottle of the sandalwood-flavored Cabernet.

Zach inhaled deeply. Hollowing his cheeks, he opened his mouth in a wide _Oh..._ and puffed out his breath in soft, sustained huffs. Chris tilted back his head against Zach’s shoulder and watched with cross-eyed fascination how silvery smoke rings drifted toward the ceiling and melted away into the shadow forest of the chandelier.

Chris frowned at Zach in owlish indignation. (By now he had exchanged his contacts for his thick, black-rimmed glasses – smoking pot tended to irritate his eyes – and looked even more adorable than normally.) “Really, Zach? _Smoke rings?_ How much more Gandalf can you get?!”

Zach waggled his eyebrows. “No idea. But I do aspire to find out.”

“Well, you already rock those wizard brows. That’s got to be the first step, surely.” Chris grinned. “And I’m sure Leonard will teach you the Bilbo Baggins song, too, if you ask nicely.” Growing serious, he added, “But what we’re doing, it kind of feels like an epic quest of sorts. At least we’ve got plenty of adventures lined up, for sure. Climbing the Paramount if not the Lonely Mountain. Maybe we won’t have to fight orcs, but there’ll be paparazzi and reporters and gossip galore. And who knows? There might be dragons ...” He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and took a deep breath. “I’ll just have to Bilbo it up, I guess.”

“Chris, you’re crazy.” Following a crazy impulse of his own, Zach started rocking Chris in his arms, singing softly. _“Bilbo, Bilbo! Bilbo Baggins. The bravest little Hobbit of them all.”_ And as a second verse he added: _“Princess, Princess! Princess Whitelaw. The bravest little Princess of them all.”_

A pillow fight and an orgasm later, Zach had pinned Chris under his body again and was kissing him hard. With the taste of Chris’s lips, sweet with weed, rich with wine, everything that had happened during the past seven weeks flooded Zach’s mind: sudden sex in New York, this crazy Hobbit hole vacation, their unexpected _relationship_. That moment on the precipice, when Zach had stumbled out of his ordinary life into the adventure of being in love with Chris without a handkerchief or a map. All of that came back to Zach. In a bright blue gaze and frantic heartbeats and an echo of Chris’s voice in his mind: _I miss you too much._

Suddenly Zach realized that it wouldn’t be too much – that it _couldn’t_ be too much. No matter what adventures or misfortunes or upheavals awaited them. Not with Chris at his side. And then, without any effort or hesitation at all, Zach could finally say it:

“I’ll miss _you_. _So_ much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  there and back again
> 
> (Unnecessary disclaimer: the Instagram is fake, nothing but fantasy, and just an illustration for this story.)
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **♥ Comments are love! ♥**  
>  What made you smile? What made you frown? What's the most memorable line? Let me know! And if you don't know what to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another author elsewhere? Comments are the best thank-you fanfic writers can receive, and all of us cherish them. Thank you for reading, and I hope you like my story.


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